


Gifted

by kumiko_sama_chan



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sanji-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 49,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kumiko_sama_chan/pseuds/kumiko_sama_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanji thought his life was over when he woke up in that hotel room and his body was no longer his. All of that changed when a certain green-haired man walked through the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a pretty picture I saw on pixiv (here: www.pixiv.net/member_ ?mode=medium&illust_id=30342987) and also the fact that I have a certain soft spot for captive Sanji fics. 
> 
> This fic has very much become an experimentation in scene-setting. Ye be warned.

It was cold. Or rather, he was cold. He doubted that it had anything to do with the actual temperature of the room, though the air conditioner probably would have appreciated a break. But that was beside the point. Sanji had been perpetually shivering ever since he had been taken.

It had been three months since he had woken up in the hotel room that served as his prison. He had no memory of how he had gotten there. All that he remembered was falling asleep in his apartment one night and then waking up, naked and bound, on the too firm mattress. He had been terrified and furious, but most of all he was freezing. Sanji had lain on the bed for hours, quietly taking in his surroundings as he struggled with the difficult combined task of stopping his teeth from chattering and quelling the panic that clutched at his heart. By now he had every nook, cranny, crack, and crevice memorized.

It was a decent-sized suite style hotel room. Longer than it was wide, there was a living area with a couch with hard pleather-covered cushions, a high-backed armchair whose threadbare upholstery was at least a decade old, and a low faux wood veneer coffee table. Across from the couch was a bulky entertainment center, whose drawers and shelves were empty but for the old analog television that fit tightly into its designated compartment. Sanji had no remote for the tv; for that matter, he didn't have any control over the device at all. Rather, it would switch on at any given hour of the day or night, its volume varying from deafening to muted, and would play everything from the news to soap operas to horror films to children's cartoons. He had even seen porn on a few occasions, though every one of those had been under circumstances where he wasn't exactly free to watch. But he preferred not to think about that.

Beyond the half living room lay the bathroom. Typical of most hotels, the washing area was separate from the toilet and the bath. Just as one stepped into the washroom, the no longer plush polyester carpet gave way to linoleum tile. There was a wide double sink made of plastic that was meant to imitate marble and a large mirror that reflected the adjoining bathroom. As with everything else in his new "home"—as They called it—the bathroom itself was cheap made cheaper by its vain attempt to look expensive. The off-white toilet bowl was chipped and missing its lid, the towel rods were plastic and yellowed with age, the walls were speckled with mildew near the ceiling, and the pinkish bathtub was patterned with several layers of rings. The drain was clogged with rust, hair, and a myriad of other disgusting things that Sanji didn't even want to guess at, resulting with his rare showers ending with him standing shin deep in his own dirty runoff. Worse yet, the water pressure was turned up way too high and it was damned near impossible to control the temperature; so when he was allowed to shower, the uneven spray from the calcium encrusted showerhead hit him with bruising force, tearing at his scalp and stinging his skin. Most of the time, however, Sanji washed himself in the sink. Like the television, the shower only worked with They wanted it to work.

Opposite of the bathroom, on the other side of the living room, was his bed. Of everything housed within his personal prison, the bed was the most familiar to him. It was where he had first awoken; where he slept away the hours of blissful lonely solitude; and where he huddled, shaking and wrapped in the flimsy blankets when he was kept awake. It was also where he entertained any house guests that They brought him. Queen-sized, the mattress was just firm enough to be uncomfortable and was covered by the typical not-quite-cotton cream bed sheets topped by a thin wool blanket and a threadbare nearly flat duvet. He had also been allotted two polyfiber-filled pillows that vaguely hurt to sleep on, and a gaudy pink throw pillow with red stitching of flowers and the phrase "Home Sweet Home". Sanji couldn't help but to wrinkle his nose every time he saw the solitary piece of decoration. He wasn't allowed to hide it, or even remove it from the bed, and had been punished the few times that he had in his early days in captivity. The pillow served as a cruel reminder that his new lifestyle was permanent and inescapable.

Huffing, Sanji shifted his weight slightly, repositioning himself as best as he could given his current predicament, purposefully avoiding making eye contact with his own reflection in the wall-sized mirror at the foot end of the bed as he turned to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling window. Made of tinted bullet proof glass, the double-paned expanse afforded him a stunning view of the city skyline and the horizon beyond, so long as the automated blinds between the panes of glass weren't closed. He had very quickly discovered that his room was east facing, as the sun shone in, completely illuminating the space, every morning. He was also high up; high, high up. When he pressed his face to the glass and peered down, the people on the sidewalk looked like ants and the cars like toys. In the early days of his captivity, Sanji had considered jumping, but the window functioned more as a clear wall than a window, with absolutely no way to be opened, and the glass was far too thick for him to shatter, especially when all of the furniture was bolted to the floor.

Reflected in the darkened nighttime glass, Sanji saw the clock on the table between the bed and the window click from 10:49 to 10:50. He felt a shiver run up his spine and flexed his arms in their newest bonds. Normally, he was allowed free run of his room, even if he spent the majority of it curled in a ball beneath the sheets. But it was a different story when he had house guests coming. Then They insisted that he be properly prepared.

Barely anything was ever revealed about the identities of his frequent and varying guests. Other than what he could gather from the ways with which They readied him for each individual and the occasional face that he recognized from the news, he was given absolutely no information. Instead, his captors would come in, force him to bathe, and then bind him or beat him or dress him or drug him or all of the above, based on the incoming guest's preferences. In the three months that had elapsed since his abduction, Sanji's so-called house guests had run the gamut from priests and politicians, to drug lords and gang members. He had entertained each one in turn, according to Their wishes, and had quickly amassed himself a small but growing list of regulars.

Tonight's visitor was a new one, and Sanji could only guess that the man was a newcomer to the organization and that he was meant to be a welcoming gift, given the way he'd been wrapped up like a present. Long bright red ribbon was entwined around his entire body. It circled his wrists, binding his arms behind his back, and then wound its way around his torso, stretching and crisscrossing over his chest and back as it snaked up and around his neck. From there, it hung down, the very small amount of slack it had been allowed swaying slightly in the currents created by the air conditioning vent in the wall directly overhead, before being wrapped tightly around his cock just below the head and tied off with a small bow. The ends of the ribbon slunk around behind him, laid out on the sheets and pillows in a semi-elaborate display before being secured to the headboard.

Per what seemed to have become the standard routine, he had been fed a cocktail of drugs that made his mind dull and fuzzy, and his body hypersensitive and compliant. It was impossible for him to ignore the dull ache that radiated around the silk that bound his erection, or the throbbing that travelled from base to tip, or the unscratchable itch that tingled at his slit with every drop of pre-cum that leaked out and burned a trail down the bound organ. A particularly violent shiver rattled its way through his body, and Sanji closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. It was at times like this that he felt the most hopeless. Being left bound, drugged, and aroused for some stranger to come and use wrenched away his humanity with terrifying force, leaving him with the harsh reality that his life was no longer his own. He had become a thing, a toy, a bartering chip. He was an unwilling instrument for pleasure, gifted and loaned out to curry favor with whomever They chose.

Cracking an eye open, he looked at the clock reflected in the window once more. 10:54p.m. His guest was to arrive at eleven. Squeezing his eyes closed again, Sanji took a shuddering breath and tried with all his might to focus on something else. Anything to take his mind off of the wait and the inevitable encounter that would follow it. His mind immediately took him back to his kitchen. He had been a sous-chef in his former life—the one that seemed so unreal now. Furrowing his brow when a particularly powerful throb down below threatened to pull him away, the chef began to mentally prepare his imaginary menu.

It was late fall now, so the food needed to be heavy and hearty. He wanted his imaginary customers to leave feeling fulfilled and sustained. This time of the year, when the wind seemed to claw through even thick down coats, the right meal could create a cocoon of warmth, a barrier against the onslaught of winter.

Sanji sighed to himself, trying his best to ignore the pain in his own empty stomach as he filled his fantasy menu with squash soup, beef, potatoes, beans, broccoli, and spinach. The other cooks would complain about his inclusion of too much green, but he silenced them with a stern glare and a menacingly raised foot every time. Soon he felt himself relaxing, his drug-dazed mind allowing him to run from reality more easily than when he was sober. The kitchen with its rowdy cooks was his refuge, and probably the only thing keeping him sane.

He was halfway through laying out the dessert menu and accompanying list of liqueur-infused beverages when he heard the heavy bolts on the other side of the door slide back. All thoughts about imaginary gourmet meals vanished in a heartbeat as Sanji's eyes snapped open and he whipped his head around to face the door located in the center of the wall between the mirror and the entertainment center. His entire body tensed as he waited to see who would step inside. He hoped desperately that whoever it was wouldn't be too violent. He didn't relish the idea of washing more blood down the clogged drain in the bathroom.

For the space of several uncomfortable halting breaths, he could only hear muffled voices on the other side of the thick wood. One of them he recognized as the burly blonde that was responsible for some of his more violent mistreatment, the other was unfamiliar. The stranger rumbled a response to an inaudible question, and was rewarded with a rough laugh. Then the handle began to turn and Sanji's breath caught in his throat. This was it. He was about to meet the man that would hold his life in his hands for the night.

A tanned hand entered the room first as it pushed the door open. For a moment, Sanji's view of the rest of the man was blocked by the door, and he held his breath as he finally emerged from behind it. The man was younger than he had expected; as a matter of fact, he was the youngest so-called guest that Sanji had yet to host. The stranger didn't look to be much older than he was, which seemed awfully young to be working with people like Them. And why the hell was his hair that outlandish shade of green?

Seemingly oblivious to the blonde's blatant staring, the man made straight for the couch, stripping off his long coat as he went and dropping it on the pleather monstrosity, and then heading for the bathroom and shutting the door. Sanji's mouth dropped open when he heard the telltale sound of liquid falling into liquid. The guy was peeing. Seriously? Did he even realize that there was someone else in the room? Sanji was pretty sure that he was kind of hard to miss, what with being naked and all. Soon, he heard the toilet flush, and the man walked out of the bathroom, washed his hands, splashed some water on his face, and then grumbled to himself when he found that there weren't any towels. Wiping his hands on his jeans, he turned to reenter the room and finally realized that he had company.

Sanji's mouth snapped shut at the same time that the man's fell open, and they both studied each other in stunned silence. As oblivious as he was, Sanji had to admit that at least the guy was handsome, even with the green hair. High cheekbones and a defined jaw framed a surprisingly youthful face. The man had a wide mouth, a thin straight nose, and gunmetal grey eyes, well, eye. The left eye was forever closed by a deep scar that cut vertically down from the eyebrow, through the lid, and ending on his cheek. Had Sanji been in the position to ask questions, one of the first would have been about the violent scar, and it took all of his self control not to just blurt it out.

He watched the man with wide eyes, a blush creeping onto his cheeks as he saw the one eye flick back and forth over his naked body, following the path of the red ribbon until it finally settled on his erection. The man stared at it for a minute, his expression one of pure shock, before his gaze moved back upward, landing on Sanji's face. Something in the grey eye hardened as it met Sanji's blue, and the blonde found himself shrinking away from the stranger, his body resuming its tense shivering. His mouth suddenly dry, Sanji attempted to swallow, only to have it stick half way down. The man looked like he was ready to kill something, and Sanji was the closest thing within strangling distance.

"Fuck this," the man finally spat after several tense minutes. With heavy booted steps, he stomped over to the couch and retrieved his coat. "I did not sign up for this shit."

With angry jerking movements, the man began to put his coat back on and head for the door. All Sanji could do was watch and hold his breath. Was he really just going to walk out? Hadn't he known that he would be there? Hadn't They told him? For that matter, what would They think when they came in the morning and found that Sanji hadn't properly entertained his guest? They always checked. Always. Sanji's body began to shake in earnest as he contemplated the punishment that They would inflict if he just let his guest leave. They wouldn't care that the man hadn't been interested. His word meant nothing, even if he was telling the truth.

"Please don't go!" he blurted just before the man's hand reached the door knob. Sanji slowly repositioned himself on the bed, spreading his legs and rolling his hips forward, meeting his guest's stunned eye with his best seductive expression. However, his act quickly withered under the intense gaze. Sanji dropped his head. "P-Please stay? If you don't…If I don't, They'll…"

Sanji could feel the man's deep frown from across the room, though he didn't look up.

"What's your name?"

Sanji twitched, startled by the question. None of his other guests had ever asked before.

"Well?" The man sounded slightly impatient, and Sanji saw him cross his arms in his peripheral vision. "You've got a name, don't you? Or did you let them take that from you too?"

For the first time in months, Sanji felt indignant rage flare in his chest, even in spite of the drugs dulling his senses. Just who the hell did this fucking grass green bastard think he was?

"I didn't just let them take anything!" he snapped, meeting the stranger's calm gaze with a furious one. "You don't know what it's like here! You can't! I—They—"

All of the emotions that he had pushed aside and buried swelled to the surface. The anger and defiance he thought had been lost mingled with his despair and hopelessness, jumbling his thoughts and snatching his words away before he could form them. His hands opened and closed behind his back, suddenly feeling much more uncomfortable in their bonds than they had before. He wanted to rip away the damned irritating ribbon and kick the crap out of the bastard, feeling another surge of frustration when the expression on the man's face softened from judgment to pity.

"I don't need you pity!" spat Sanji, just then noticing the hot tears running over his cheeks. "If you want to leave so badly, then just go! I don't care! They can do whatever they want with me! It doesn't matter anymore! They can kill me for all I care! They can—"

His eyes flicked to the locked and bolted door of the walk-in closet beside the bathroom, fear gnawing at his anger and stealing his words away. He had let his emotions run wild and spoken too soon. This man seemed important, and if he told Them what he had just heard—an involuntary shudder ran through Sanji's body.

"How long have you been here?" asked the man, the steely edge to his voice long gone.

"Three months, I think," answered Sanji off-handedly, never taking his eyes from the closet door as if he was waiting for it to spontaneously open and reveal the horrors within. Part of him was convinced that it would. "It's hard to tell. I try to count the days, but I think sometimes I miss some."

The mattress beside him sank slightly, making Sanji twitch in surprise; he hadn't noticed the man cross the room. He felt calloused fingers touch at his chin, pulling his attention away from the closet at the other side of the room. Sanji recoiled slightly. There was still pity lingering in the one grey eye, though he guessed that he probably was pretty pitiful at this point. A thumb wiped at a tear that had won the race to his jaw line.

"They'll hurt you, won't they?" the man said quietly, suddenly awkward instead of imposing. He pulled his hand away from Sanji's face, gesturing between the two of them. "I mean, if we don't…"

Sanji sniffed and gulped, half meeting the man's eye, and nodded. The man scowled, and Sanji saw his hands flex in his lap.

"I'll need your name then," he ordered.

Sanji pressed his lips together.

"I don't sleep with strangers," he explained. "So, you can either tell me your name, or I'll just g—"

"Sanji." He saw the man's eyebrows rise. "My name…My name is Sanji."

The man's lips quirked in a small, half-hearted smile. "Well, Sanji, how do you want to do this?"

There was another question that no one had asked before. Sanji bit his lip, unsure of what to say. The tentative calloused hand reached out again, caressing his cheek and jaw before gently grabbing hold of his chin and pulling him forward into a kiss. Sanji winced against the surprise action, suddenly much more aware of the red ribbon wrapped around his body. The other man simply held him in place, their lips pressed together, and waited for him to relax.

Sanji sat frozen, taking in the stranger's face, blurry from proximity, with wide eyes. His green hair looked softer up close, and there was a very small imperfection in the seemingly straight line of his nose that betrayed past damage. Closing his eyes, Sanji took in a deep calming breath. The man smelled like a combination between off-brand soap, coffee, and a bit of sweat; nothing like the sharp expensive cologne of his other guests. Breathing out, he parted his lips, leaning further into the man in invitation. He felt the hand on his chin slide around and palm the back of his head, holding him steady as a tongue slipped into his mouth, exploring but not invading.

After several minutes, Sanji found himself balanced on the edge of relaxation and tension. He wasn't being pushed or forced, but the cocktail of drugs still coursed through his body. Hypersensitive skin picked up every little touch, and the constant stimulus of the deep kiss sent wave after wave of sensation southwards. His cock throbbed painfully with want, and the tightly wound ribbon was all that was keeping him from falling over the edge just from the kiss. Then he felt the fingertips of the hand that wasn't tangled in his hair brush against his tip as it searched for the bow in the ribbon.

"Don't," he breathed, breaking the kiss.

The man pulled away and studied him, concern darkening his good eye. There was an aroused blush coloring his cheeks, and Sanji was certain that his own complexion mirrored the bright color. The man's eye flicked downward and then back up to meet Sanji's.

"That can't be comfortable." He leaned forward and kissed him again, distracting the blonde as he made to free him once more.

"Stop." The word came out more of a whine than an order. Sanji remained close to the man, their lips brushing as he tried to find the words to explain. "If you…I…They drugged…I won't last."

"Then what can I do?" asked the man, sounding slightly irritated.

Sanji thought for a moment. "Arms."

Instantly understanding him, the man reached around behind him, wrapping Sanji in a sort of awkward hug as he worked at untying the ribbon. The man seemed to the struggling a little with the tight knots around his wrists, but he gave no sign of frustration as he worked, not even tensing when Sanji nuzzled his face into his shoulder. The cotton shirt stretched over the firm muscles was soft, and Sanji sighed as he buried his face into the fabric. He had always taken clothing for granted in his former life. Now it was a luxury that he would give anything for.

Finally after several minutes of work, Sanji felt the ribbon around his arms loosen enough that he could pull them free. No sooner had the man unwrapped his arms from around his body, than Sanji reciprocated, flinging his own around the stranger's neck and rewarding his efforts with a firm kiss. With their lips still locked together, Sanji took advantage of his new leverage to shift closer to the man until he was straddling his lap, their bodies pressed against one another. As Sanji leaned against him, he could feel the growing bulge trying to fight its way free of the man's pants, and only half-managed to suppress another shiver.

"Do we need to stop?" murmured the man, pulling away and frowning slightly as he saw the hesitation on Sanji's face. The surprisingly gentle calloused hands began to rub soothingly at Sanji's back, leaving trails of warmth on his cold skin. "I don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to do."

Sanji merely shook his head. He was already being forced, though not by the man beneath him. Rather than vocalize an answer, Sanji chose action instead, reaching down and hurriedly unfastening and unzipping the man's pants. Leaning forward as if to kiss him again, he slipped his hand into the denim and palmed the tightly stretched fabric of the man's briefs.

By now the drugs in Sanji's body were in full effect. Every nerve ending hummed with anticipation and he could feel more and more pressure building and coiling down below. He needed to get this over with and fast, or he wouldn't make it to the end of this encounter. With slow motions, he began to massage the man's cock through his underwear, earning a shudder and a moan, and the hands that had been running over his back stopped mid-motion to grip tightly at his hips. Soon, three months of experience told him that the man was ready as well. Pulling his hand away, Sanji reached up once again, playing with the green hair as he whispered as seductively as possible in the man's ear.

"Do it, please?" Sanji had been trained to say these words, to beg his guests for more. This part was more ritual than anything else, and he fully expected the man to immediately comply. He leaned in closer, their bodies touching on every plane possible and his lips brushing the man's ear as he spoke. "I want you to fuck me."

Any other guest would have—and had—jumped at those words. Within the blink of an eye, Sanji would have found himself thrown against the headboard, and brutally and often viciously used until he was full and the other was empty. The man, however, simply pulled away and studied him for a moment, his face unreadable as he assessed his partner for the night. Sanji squirmed on his lap, more than a little uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze, especially when he could feel both of their erections twitching and weeping between them. The thin lips twitched down in a small frown and arched green-tinged eyebrows furrowed slightly as the man seemed to reach some sort of decision; then Sanji felt his grip around his waist tighten as he was lifted and gently laid on his back with his head cradled in the pillows.

Thrown off guard by the smooth, deliberate action, Sanji lay on the flattened duvet in stunned silence, simply watching as the man stripped off his clothes, first removing his shirt followed closely by his pants, socks, and underwear. If he had thought the scar over the man's eye had a violent story, it paled in comparison to the jagged gash that cut diagonally across his chest and stomach, running a path from shoulder to hip. Just who was this guy? Everything about him screamed dangerous brutality, yet he had been nothing but gentle. Sanji's eyes continued to flick over the man's body, taking in the every tanned and sculpted detail, and he felt his mouth run dry.

The man arched an eyebrow at the blonde's mute staring. "You ready?"

Sanji nodded dumbly, his mind rapidly derailing as he watched the man spit into his hand and rub it onto himself in preparation. The muscles in his back tensed involuntarily when his legs and hips were lifted from the mattress, and his breath caught in his lungs when the man aligned himself. His guest hesitated for a moment, as if not entirely convinced of his decision, and then he drove in.

Sanji's back arched and he gasped as his tight rings of muscle were penetrated. Reaching up, he gripped at the pillow with one hand and put the knuckles of the other in his mouth to stifle any noise, moaning into the sweaty skin when the man slowly pulled out and pushed in again, increasing the intensity and rate with every thrust of his hips. Soon the unrelenting itch of arousal became unbearable, causing him to buck his hips upward in the man's grip, catching him off guard in the middle of a particularly hard thrust.

Stars exploded behind Sanji's eyelids, and he nearly bit through the skin of his knuckles when the man hit his prostate, sending a whole new tidal wave of heat and pressure rocketing for his cock. The ribbon had to go. Now. The muscles in his back and legs tensed and released around the other man, and he could hear him groan and shudder in response.

"Take it—Take it off," Sanji moaned, his own limbs completely useless under the onslaught of stimulation.

The man needed no second bidding. Letting go of his hips with one hand, he quickly found the end and pulled the ribbon away. Sanji's pulse thudded hard and fast in the engorged organ, his back arching from the ecstasy of freedom. The deep well of heat that had been dammed up behind the confining ribbon rushed forth, and Sanji was unable to suppress a loud gasping moan as he came between the two of them, splashing their naked bodies and the sheets. Sanji's muscles spasmed and shook as the orgasm rocked through his body, and the man didn't last much longer.

With a grunt and a groan, he spilled inside of Sanji, filling him completely and providing the proof that They would seek later. Pulling out, he slumped onto the mattress beside him, one arm slung tiredly over Sanji's body. They lay in a simultaneously awkward and comfortable silence until the all too familiar cold gripped Sanji again and he began to shiver.

Noticing his shaking, the man cracked his good eye open and then, without a word, pulled him closer and trapped him in a firm embrace. The man's body seemed to radiate warmth, and Sanji slowly but surely felt his shuddering subside and his muscles relax in the cocoon of heat. Tucking his arms in close to his body, he snuggled closer to the man, burrowing his face into his shoulder. Normally, he couldn't sleep until his guests left the room and were well away, but there was something so comforting about his strange new mossy-headed companion. He had been so different from the others, and Sanji soon felt himself drifting off, locked securely in his embrace.

"You falling asleep on me?" The man's deep rumble vibrated soothingly throughout his body.

Sanji hummed in response, and nuzzled in deeper. He was on the edge of slumber. He hadn't felt this comfortable since before he had been taken.

"Oi, Sanji, listen to me." The man gave him a slight shake, waking him enough to hear what he had to say before exhaustion shut down his mind and body completely. "I will save you from this place. I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

Sanji shivered as he watched the tiny snowflakes swirl outside his window. He used to love the first snow of the season. It had always seemed so magical, seeing those initial light little flakes dance from grey clouds. Their coming signaled the beginning of one of his favorite seasons, when everything was covered in a beautiful layer of pure white, and he got to wear layers upon layers of soft warm clothing, and cook rich foods that coated the palette and settled inside in a wonderfully heavy way. Now, it was only cold and dreary. The dark tint on his massive window cast an ominous hue over his favorite precipitation, making the snow seem sullen and the clouds oppressive. And the window did nothing to insulate against the frigid temperature. His already cool room suddenly seemed that much colder, and no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in his thin blankets, Sanji just couldn't seem to warm himself.

But then again, everything seemed colder since the man had left.

It had been nearly a week since he had entertained the odd green-haired man. He had been so unlike the others, and Sanji's mind constantly wandered back to him. Every waking and sleeping moment was occupied by visions of the violent scars and battle-ready body juxtaposed against the gentle touches and concerned expression. He wanted so badly to remain within that unreadable gunmetal eye, to run his hands through the oddly colored hair, and, most of all, to be wrapped in that warm embrace. As Sanji continued to shiver, nearly convinced that he should be able to see his own breath, he guessed that he missed the man's radiator-like warmth the most. The few hours that he had slept in the man's arms were the most comfortable that he had been since his abduction, with the heat running out of the tanned skin and soaking into him, reaching all the way to his core. His slumber within the man's embrace had been deep and dreamless, blissfully devoid of his typical nightmares and half-awake hallucinations. When he had awoken the next morning to the feeling of his guest untangling himself from his pale limbs and the stained bed linens, it had taken all of Sanji's self control to not beg him to stay.

The cold of his room instantly felt more potent the moment the man climbed out of the bed and began to gather his clothing that was scattered across the worn carpet. Sanji's all too familiar shivering and shaking took over his body within minutes, and the man's jaw had tightened when he saw it, his eye flashing with that terrifying rage. He had leant in and caressed Sanji's face with his wide calloused palm, his body heat feeling white hot against Sanji's cold cheek. The man hadn't said anything, merely frowning as he studied the blonde, holding his blue eyes captive with his steely gaze as he plotted out some silent plan.

There had once been a time when Sanji would have defiantly held the stare, not backing down or even flinching until his opponent admitted defeat. It was a trait that had made him so formidable in the kitchen and had allowed him to climb to the rank of sous-chef in the cutthroat industry at such a young age. But the months of mistreatment that left no physical scars on his body, and the angst of loneliness and worry had gnawed away at his will and weakened his resolve; and he had withered under the scrutinizing gaze, shrinking away from the warmth of the man's hand and retreating under the thin covers. The man had given him an odd look then, confusion flashing across his features before he turned and retrieved his coat from the couch and headed for the door.

"I'll keep my promise to you, I swear," he'd said just as his hand reached the knob.

Sanji had only stared at him from the bed with wide eyes, finding his tongue to be quite uncooperative in light of the sudden overwhelming sense of loss that he felt at the other side of the bed being empty. The man had studied him for a moment longer, his frown deepening ever so slightly.

"Well, I'll see you soon." And then he was gone.

He had sat perfectly still but for the quivering of his cold muscles for the better part of the morning, going over every moment of his encounter with the man. Sanji relived it over and over in his mind, trying to better understand what had just happened. Every time, he came back to the same single moment when he had first found himself pressed against that warm body and wrapped in the comforting embrace. The memory was fuzzy—he had been nearly asleep when the man had spoken those words—but they still filtered through and echoed around inside his mind.

"I will save you from this place. I promise."

Sanji furrowed his brow and pulled the blankets more tightly around his body, disrupting his pillows and sending the "Home Sweet Home" pillow tumbling to the floor. He still didn't entirely understand what the man had meant. The sentence seemed straightforward enough, but in the end it could only be an empty promise. How exactly did he intend to free him? They had complete control over everything. Hell, Sanji was fairly convinced that They probably even had means of watching him remotely. He wouldn't be at all surprised if his encounters with his varying house guests were recorded and kept. Nor would he be shocked to discover that videos and images of Them "breaking him in" were making their rounds on the internet.

How exactly did the man intend to sneak him through the building and past the guards, especially when he was naked? Sanji had never been allowed to leave his room, so he had no idea of the size or layout of the building, but guessed that it must be quite large given the staggering number of stories he was above the ground.

Another question nagged at him. Why? What had been so special about him that would make this stranger want to risk so much? He wasn't the first to express interest in taking Sanji away from his prison, though the word "save" had never come into the equation before. More often than not, when the subject came up, the operative verb used was "buy".

One guest in particular had been very insistent. A local businessman, whose face Sanji had immediately recognized from the news. He was most famous for owning a large casino just outside of the city, and his ruthless business strategy and the frequency with which his rivals met violent ends had earned him the nickname "Sir Crocodile". He had been one of Sanji's first house guests, and he had decided right away that the name suited the man. Crocodile was tall, broad shouldered, and obviously physically powerful. A jagged scar cut horizontally over his nose and across his face, running parallel to his wide, grinning mouth. Sanji still remembered the fear that had clutched at his heart when those hungry, heavy-lidded eyes first trailed over his body. He felt his pulse quicken just at the thought of the brutal man, and gave his head a violent shake in hopes of clearing it away. Crocodile had just been with him the night before, having left early that morning, meaning that he wouldn't be back for another visit for at least a week.

Sanji's back twinged with pain, and he adjusted his position, flopping over onto his side with the blankets still wrapped around him. His entire body ached in the aftermath of Crocodile's visit. It always did. The businessman didn't really have any specific kinks, per se, but he still stood out from the others with his violence and brutality. He had taken to Sanji the moment he had laid eyes on him, seemingly attracted to the combination of his blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. He was always so eager to see what new ways he could devise to discolor Sanji's pale flesh, his visits always ending with Sanji bruised and sore. And he also bled. Every time he bled, though not from any external wound.

Crocodile preferred to bed his "Prince"—as he had taken to calling Sanji—raw. He would pin Sanji to the bed, or the couch, or the wall, or whatever was convenient, and drive into him repeatedly until he screamed and cried and they were both slick with blood. Then Crocodile would come, pulling at Sanji's hair and abusing his cock with rough hands until he was utterly spent. If Sanji was lucky, he would be allowed to lay in cold silence at the edge of the bed for the rest of the night while his guest slept off his high. Last night had been different, however. Something in the outside world must have upset him, because Crocodile had been in a foul mood from the moment he arrived, filled with the odd energy created by agitation. He had stayed awake the entire night, using Sanji's body for his every whim over and over with little to no break in between.

When he'd left, They hadn't even bothered to check on Sanji, not even to send one of their doctors. Instead, Sanji had cleaned himself as best as he could in the sink, using small handfuls of water to wash away the blood dried on his backside and the insides of his legs. He had winced every time his fingers came in contact with a fresh bruise, biting his lip to avoid making a sound. The marks that Crocodile had left this time were deep, plunging from his paper thin skin, through weakened muscle, and straight to the bone. He limped with every step he took and flinched at every move he made, having to use the walls and furniture to support himself as he made his agonizingly slow journey from the bathroom to the bed.

Sanji had spent the entire rest of the day there, huddled beneath the sheets, watching the snow fall in lieu of sleeping. At some point during the day, They had sent the muscle-bound blonde guard up with food and a message: Sanji would be having company tonight. Sanji had taken in the information quietly, ever careful to avoid making eye contact with the man, Bellamy, in hopes of avoiding inciting any sort of violence. And he was successful, apart from the cursory smack upside the head that he received as the guard sought to assert his dominance.

His meal had been tasteless as usual, a bland sticky oatmeal that he was only able to choke down out of sheer will. Sanji had swallowed each heaping spoonful whole, focusing on his meager meal and doing his best to ignore Bellamy's taunts about his animalistic eating habits. He hadn't always been this way. There had been a time when he had enjoyed lavish meals made from the best ingredients there were. Working in a five star restaurant guaranteed no less, and Sanji's refined and carefully trained taste buds protested with every bite. By the end of every meal, his mouth and stomach ached with longing, resulting in him feeling emptier than he had before eating the flavorless slop They called food.

As soon as the door closed behind Bellamy and the heavy bolt on the other side slid shut, Sanji had hidden beneath his blankets once again, resuming his vigil over the falling snow. It was mid-afternoon, according to the old flip-tab clock on his bedside table, and his guest wouldn't arrive until eleven, meaning that he still had several hours of waiting before They sent in someone to prepare him. Sanji clenched his jaw, wincing as he drew his knees up to his chest; the movement sending spikes of pain running up and down his back. He didn't want to think about what They would do to him in preparation. Part of him hoped that whatever drugs They gave him might numb some of his lingering pain, but the fear of addiction kept the thought at bay.

Sanji's mind began to wander as he tried to distract himself from the ever agonizing wait. At first, he tried to imagine himself back in his kitchen, but he couldn't seem to grasp his typical refuge. Instead, every thought he had seemed to circle back to the green-haired man. He didn't want to take the man's promise of rescue too seriously. After all, they had only known each other for one night; it made no sense for him to risk so much to save him. And, for all Sanji knew, he would just end up in a different version of the same situation. Or—Sanji frowned and shivered as the thought occurred to him—They were using the man to test him. What if he went along with whatever it was the man was planning only to fall into some trap? Even with his back facing the room, he could feel the weight of the closet and its contents at the opposite end; the feeling boring into his back as if the bolted door had eyes.

No, it was better not to trust the man, as much as he wanted to. It would be better for him, as They had told him, to just accept his fate. But that didn't mean that he couldn't find comfort in the man's warm embrace. Just imagining those strong arms wrapped around his body, hugging him close as he drifted off to sleep, scattered Sanji's panic and despair, allowing his eyelids to droop tiredly as he finally relaxed.

Sanji startled awake, his entire body a shivering mass of twitching nerves and jerking muscles. His heart pounded madly in his chest, and he could hear his pulse thundering in his ears. He sat bolt upright, flinging the blankets to the side, and scanned the room with wide eyes. Completely disoriented by his mysteriously rough awakening, it took his fatigued mind several minutes to register his surroundings. All too soon though, his memory caught up with his other senses, and he remembered where he was. There was the couch, the armchair, the—Sanji shuddered—the closet, the bathroom, the heavy entertainment center, and his massive window.

As he scanned his room, his gaze landed on his reflection in the wall-size mirror at the foot end of the bed. Sanji sat and quietly studied himself as he waited for his panicked heart rate to slow. There was a reason he always avoided his reflection. It was a brutal reminder of what he had become.

The Sanji that looked out at him from the aged and faded glass wouldn't have been recognizable to his friends and family. He had lost a considerable amount of weight in captivity; not so much from a lack of nutrition, but from his inability to keep his meals down with any amount of consistency. He wasn't necessarily underweight, but his muscles lacked the definition that they had had when he was free. Though he had always been fair, his skin was almost translucent in its paleness, and as he studied himself, it suddenly occurred to Sanji that he looked nothing short of frail. Reaching up with a shaking hand, he brushed aside the limp blonde hair that hung over his right eye, revealing the dark bruise that Crocodile had left the night before. Even with the darkened skin contrasting against his blue eyes, the once bright hue seemed faded. Sanji felt a whole new wave of sorrow swell in his chest, congealing in his lungs and making it hard to breathe. Months ago, he would never have imagined the possibility of it, but They had managed to break him. He was a shell of the man he had once been, and even if he ever got to leave, he doubted that there would be enough of him left for the effort to be worthwhile.

His eyes began to burn with unshed tears, and he crammed the heels of his hands into them in an attempt to trap the moisture inside; choking down a loud sob when the action put undue pressure on his black eye. Now wasn't the time to be crying. He had a guest coming, and he would get into a whole new breed of trouble if he ruined the mood. Sniffing, he rapidly blinked his tears away, wiping at the dampness on his cheeks and erasing any trails that may have been left behind as he turned to check the time.

11:33 p.m.

Sanji's heart froze. His guest should have arrived at eleven. For that matter, They should have woken him up hours ago to prepare him. Why had they let him sleep? He swallowed hard. Had he missed a day? It happened now and again. He would fall asleep, only to wake up sore, raw, and covered in foreign fluids. Panicking slightly, he patted himself down, wincing as his fingers met more of Crocodile's bruises. The painful marks on his ribs, arms, and legs were still fresh, and his backside still ached with the same potency. Sanji let out a small sigh of relief. So he hadn't lost a day.

But then, where was his guest? Had whoever-it-was cancelled? He balled the thin sheets on either side of him in his hands. He had had the occasional cancellation before, and that had never meant a night off for him. As much as the unknown of his guests terrified him, having to spend the night with any one of Them scared him more.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, Sanji wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in the blankets draped over the thin limbs. All he could do was wait. It was all he could ever do.

For several minutes, he sat perfectly still, trying his best to focus only on the sound of his slightly uneven breathing and to not think about who might walk through the door. When he did finally hear the bolts slide back, every single muscle in his body tensed, and his shivering became that much more violent. He wanted to look up, but at the same time he didn't; some small part of him hoping that if he angered whoever was currently on the other side of the door enough, that They might just kill him. His grip around his knees intensified, his fingers digging painfully into the bruised skin, and his breath caught in his throat as he heard the door swing open.

His guest didn't say a word, the sounds of the footsteps slightly muffled by the polyester carpet. Sanji heard something—likely a coat—land on the couch to his right, and then felt the edge of his mattress sink under the weight of an extra body. He stopped breathing entirely when a large hand caressed the back of his head, the fingers running through the once silken strands. The wide palm felt so warm, even through his abused scalp, almost like—

Sanji snapped his head up, startling the green-haired man's hand away. His mouth ran dry as he stared into the one grey eye. He really had come back.

They simply stared at each other with wide eyes for several minutes, before the man finally broke the contest, looking away with an uncharacteristically bashful expression on his face as he rubbed at the back of his head.

"Er, sorry I'm late," he muttered, seemingly unwilling to meet Sanji's eyes as he attempted to explain himself. "I got a little turned around trying to find the place, and—"

Sanji couldn't stand to listen anymore. Never before had he been so happy to see anyone in his life. After spending so many agonizing hours anticipating the worst, his late guest was none other than the oblivious, mossy-headed man that had brought him so much comfort only a week ago. Unable to contain himself, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the man's thick muscled neck, and silencing his apology with a kiss.

For a moment, the man seemed to forget himself, and reciprocated the intimate gesture, before coming to his senses and pushing Sanji away. Sanji winced at the man's firm grip on his bruised arms, dropping his head in a mixture of submission and shame under the scrutinizing gunmetal stare. He could feel the man looking at him. Just as the week before with the ribbon, that one eye moved over his body, playing connect-the-dots with his multitude of bruises. The grip around his arms lessened, and then the man finally let him go.

"What happened?" The man's voice was quiet, but there was a dangerous edge to his words.

Sanji merely shrugged. How could he possibly explain? How could he make the man understand? Not all of his guests were so gentle. Hell, none of his other guests were as gentle.

"Oi, look at me," said the man, his tone significantly softened. A hand hooked gently under Sanji's chin and raised it as the other brushed aside his hair. Sanji averted his eyes once again when he saw the man react to his blackened eye. The man pressed his lips together, a deep frown creasing his face, and then let the blonde hair fall back into place. "Who did this to you?"

"What does it matter to you?" muttered Sanji, still unwilling to meet the intense, searching gaze.

"It matters."

"Why?"

"Because, it does."

Sanji remained silent, trying and failing to break free of the grip on his chin.

"Tell me."

He clenched his jaw, his eyebrows drawing together as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. The man's hold on his chin tightened just enough to make him wince.

"Sanji, tell me," the man pleaded.

"Why?!" Sanji finally snapped, meeting the man's gaze once more. He slapped the hand on his face away. "What do you care?! What would you even do?! It's not like you can help!"

The man gave him a pitying look, and Sanji felt rage swell in his chest again. He still couldn't understand how the damned moss ball could insight such rage and feeling in him, when only moments before he had given up. His hands balled into fists as he glared at the man, old fire igniting in his heart.

"What the hell makes me so special?!" he spat. "I'm just some pathetic…thing you got to fuck, probably for free! You don't"—He choked on his words, lashing out with his hands in an attempt to push the man away.—"You don't even know anything about me!"

The man let him shove him once, and then caught his wrists when Sanji attempted to hit him again. His frown was deep and sad, and it only made Sanji angrier.

"That's not true," said the man so quietly that Sanji almost didn't hear him over his pounding pulse and the roaring air conditioner.

"What the hell do you mean, 'that's not true'?" snarled Sanji, trying and failing to break free of his inhumanly strong grip. "I'm just a piece of ass to you! That's all I am to any—"

"Your name is Sanji Black."

Sanji froze. He had never given the man his last name. Taking advantage of his stunned silence, the man continued.

"Your name is Sanji Black. You were adopted when you were ten. Your adoptive father's name is Zeff…"

Sanji's heart felt like it had jumped into his throat, and he felt the color drain from his face, but the man was unrelenting.

"…You're a cook. You work at a restaurant called The Baratie. It's a fancy place…" He gave Sanji's wrists a slight squeeze and smirked. "…but it's probably overrated."

Sanji couldn't breathe. His mouth was painfully dry and his eyes burned at the reminder of his former life. The man's expression darkened as he moved on with his monologue.

"You went missing 106 days ago. The media coverage was pretty intense at first, but even after all this time, your father hasn't stopped looking."

"Stop." The order escaped Sanji's lips as a whisper, and the man pointedly ignored it.

"There are missing signs posted in the windows of The Baratie. None of the staff have lost hope."

"Stop it."

"Zeff still goes to the local police station every week for updates."

Sanji swallowed thickly, his demands growing stronger with every passing minute. "Stop."

"He's put up all of his savings as a reward for information that leads to finding you."

Something inside Sanji snapped. Angry tears poured down his cheeks as his heart broke over the brutal reminder of the life he had lost. "Stop it! Just-Just stop! What's the point?! Why are you telling me this?!"

"The point," the man said, his voice firm, "is that you are missed; you're important; and you are more than the shivering shell of a man hiding away under these fucking blankets on this shitty bed."

The words were brutal and honest and took Sanji completely by surprise. He swallowed hard and sniffed, but held the man's intense gaze. The man's grip on his wrists slackened, and he smirked.

"Even now, you haven't given up completely; even though you think you have."

A mixture of cold, tension, and emotion shook at Sanji's body, his eyebrows knitting together as he struggled to find any lie in the man's words. Was everything he was saying true? But he had been so convinced of the hopelessness of his circumstances. He was so certain that he had been forgotten, that any attempt at escape was futile, that no one missed him; They had made sure of it.

"You're lying," Sanji tried to insist, his voice shaking. "You're lying. You're lying, you're lying, you're lying, you're lying." He sniffed and gulped. "You're lying."

The man continued to pin him in place with his unwavering grey eye. He didn't answer.

Sanji was finding it hard to see, his vision completely blurred. His shoulders shook with every ragged breath. "Please. Please, tell me you're lying."

The man simply stared at him. Sanji broke.

"Please, please tell me you're lying." He lunged forward, finally breaking free of the man's gaze and his grip as he buried his face in his shoulder, his tears rapidly soaking the familiar cotton. Each sob shook his body like a seizure, his breaths coming in desperate gulps as he struggled for air around the unshed tears and snot that ran down the back of his throat. "Please…please…"

Calloused hands rubbed soothingly at his bare back, their steady movements working toward calming his uneven breathing and erratic thoughts. Eventually, Sanji's emotional quaking subsided as his body settled back into its seemingly permanent shivering. After several minutes, the hands running over his back stopped and the man pulled away.

"When I make a promise, I keep it," said the man, his firm tone demanding that Sanji meet his steely gaze once more. Much to his surprise, Sanji somehow managed, his formerly shattered psyche reinvigorated by the man's presence. Gentle fingers wiped at the moisture collected on his flushed cheeks, and the man gave him a small but reassuring smile. "But there's no point in trying, if you've given up."

The man's thumb caught on the wetted skin on his cheek, pulling at it oddly and prompting Sanji to pull his face away. He sniffed and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand.

"You were wrong about one thing," said Sanji, his voice still thick from crying.

The man quirked an eyebrow at the statement, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah?"

"I'm not a cook."

Something flashed in the grey eye, and for a moment Sanji thought he might be inciting anger in the man. Sanji grinned weakly.

"I'm a chef."

The man's face split into a wide, victorious smile. With one quick movement, he wrapped a hand around the back of Sanji's head and pulled him in for a kiss. Sanji hesitated for only a millisecond before throwing himself whole-heartedly into the affectionate act, relishing as much in the comforting heat of the man's body as he did in the passion of the kiss. When they finally broke apart, they were both panting for air.

"You're a shitty cook, and you'll accept it," goaded the man with a playful tug at Sanji's hair.

Sanji leaned forward then, hurriedly unfastening the man's jeans with practiced movements and reaching inside. He gave him a brief, hard kiss as he massaged his member to life, and pulled away just far enough that their lips brushed against one another as he spoke.

"Fuck you," breathed Sanji, grinning against the man's mouth.

"We'll see about that," he retorted.

With firm yet gentle hands, and ever careful to avoid the multitude of bruises that riddled Sanji's body, the man pushed him back against the hard pillows, pinning him in place with his presence alone as he pulled off his clothes. Sanji silently reveled in the sight of the tanned naked body. His other guests rarely, if ever, completely stripped in his company. What the man did evened the playing field, and, on some level, made him feel as if they were equals.

Once he'd completely freed himself of his confining clothing, the man leaned in, crawling over Sanji's prone form, and began to plant one kiss after another on his face. Starting with the center of his forehead, he targeted the few remaining spots of unmarred flesh, licking at the dried tears on Sanji's cheeks, and making his way down to his jaw, his chin, and his neck. The man paused momentarily at his collarbone, sucking gently on the well created by the natural contour in a way that made Sanji gasp and made his blood rush south. He felt the man grin, his teeth brushing against but not puncturing his skin before continuing his path downward, trailing one sloppy kiss after another down Sanji's chest and stomach. All too soon, he could feel the man's hot breath against the soft trail of hair leading from his navel to his groin, causing his breath to hitch in his throat.

"What're you—What're you doing?" asked Sanji, his voice cracking under the strain of arousal.

The man planted a firm kiss just above his twitching cock, smiling against the abnormally heated flesh. Sanji's legs began to quiver on either side of the man's head when he only got another teasing kiss in response.

"I-I'm supposed to…We're supposed to…"

"We have all night for that," said the man, his deep voice vibrating throughout Sanji's body. "When was the last time someone pleasured you?"

Any answer that Sanji might have attempted vanished from his mind when the man moved downward, running his tongue leisurely up the underside of his cock, tracing the suddenly very rigid line from base to tip. Sanji gasped, his back arching at the sensation, and grabbed at the man's oddly colored hair, clenching the green strands tightly in balled up fists. Encouraged by the aroused response, the man kept going, planting kisses along the quivering length and then taking Sanji into his mouth whole.

Sanji's hips bucked upwards, involuntarily moving him deeper into the wet heat of the man's very talented mouth. An oddly powerful tongue swirled around his cock, coating it in saliva, while the mouth busied itself with sucking on the sensitized organ. Sanji clutched at the green hair more tightly, his short nails digging into the man's scalp as he felt heat and tension pool down below. If his hair pulling hurt, the man didn't seem to care. His pace never lessened as he continued his relentless stimulation, gently running his teeth up Sanji's cock, pausing only to tease at his tip with barely there nips and generous licks.

By now, Sanji's heart was thundering in his chest, and he could feel every single one of the rapid beats in his cock; the up-tempo rhythm pulsating around the man's lips. The familiar unscratchable itch of near orgasm ran rampant through his groin before collecting in beads of pre-cum that dripped from his head and mingled with the man's spit. Sanji's breathing grew more and more ragged by the second, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.

"I'm—I'm going to…ngh—"

His back arched again, and he clamped his legs shut around the man's head when he felt the very dexterous tongue dart into his slit, burrowing eagerly down into the leaking well. With a breathless gasp, Sanji came, spilling into the man's mouth, his entire body shaking with the intense orgasm. When he was finally empty, the man gave him one last suck before releasing his withering member and sitting back. Locking Sanji with his intense gaze once again, the man swallowed and wiped at a bit of cum collected at the corner of his mouth.

"So, how was it?" teased the man, flashing Sanji another victorious grin.

For several minutes, Sanji only managed harsh panting, his mind scattered completely by his orgasm. When he finally did remember how to speak, it was in a halting stutter that he would have been ashamed of under normal circumstances.

"Y-You…You bas-bastard."

The man's grin widened, and he crawled across the bed to lie down next to Sanji, wrapping him in a firm embrace and pulling the covers over them before the chill of the room could take effect. Sanji snuggled closer, pressing his back against the man's oddly warm body, and breathing a contented sigh. The man planted a kiss on the back of his head, lacing his tanned fingers through Sanji's pale ones. When Sanji felt the man's chin rest on his shoulder, he turned his head slightly, his eyelashes brushing against the man's cheek as he took in the close up view.

"Thank you," he murmured, somehow managing to make eye contact despite the awkward angle and proximity. Sanji turned away. "I'd forgotten…just…thank you."

The man simply hugged him closer in response, not even complaining when he trapped Sanji's icicle-like feet between his legs. They lay in comfortable silence for several minutes, and Sanji allowed himself to relax. Perhaps the man really was telling the truth when he'd said he would save him. Maybe he really did care. After all, the man had—

Sanji paused mid-thought and frowned.

"What's your name?" he asked, giving the fingers entwined around his a slight squeeze. The man pulled away, and Sanji turned to face him. When he didn't receive an answer, he frowned. "Well?"

"I can't tell you," the man responded.

Sanji bristled. "What? Why? You know all this shit about me, and I don't even get to know your name?!"

The man studied him for a moment, frowning as he tried to decide upon a course of action. "I can't tell you my real name, but I don't want to lie to you."

"Well, I have to call you something," said Sanji, pouting slightly.

The man hummed. "Why don't you call me 'Swordsman'?"

Sanji smirked. "What are you, a super hero? No way." He thought for a moment. "Your hair is green like a moss ball. How about I call you…Marimo?"

"Oi, oi," growled the man in mock-warning, his eye flashing with a combination of annoyance and amusement. "Fine then. If I'm 'Marimo', then you're 'Curlybrow'."

Sanji bristled at the new nickname, opening his mouth to protest before being silenced by a kiss and a firm hug. Grumbling inwardly, he allowed himself to be held in the warm embrace. He huffed against the man's chest. "Fine."

He felt Marimo rest his chin on top of his head, and moved deeper into his arms. He had been right, the two of them did have all night to be together. There was nothing stopping him from enjoying the comfort of the moment. Tucking his arms in close to his body, Sanji allowed the heat of Marimo's body to soak into his core.

Sanji smiled hopefully. "Marimo and Curlybrow, huh? I think I could live with that."


	3. Chapter 3

Sanji's teeth wouldn't stop chattering. He had tried over and over to halt the action, even clenching his jaw hard enough that he thought his molars would crack; but nothing seemed to work. No matter what he did, his teeth continued to clack against one another at the same steady pace. The agonizingly loud sound vibrated around inside his head and seemed to echo in the small bathroom, bouncing off of the cracked linoleum tile floor and the faded fiberglass tub. His teeth and his gums ached, and his jaw muscles were stiff and throbbing, but, he decided, the worst part of it was that it reminded him of the whole new level of cold he was feeling.

The once warm water in the overfull bathtub sloshed slightly as he slowly eased himself lower, a shiver running through his body as the tepid water came in contact with the just dried skin on his shoulders and as the wet skin on his knees and thighs met the chilled air. Sanji wanted to get out of the tub—the guest that the bath had been drawn for had been gone for at least two hours—but the rough nylon cord that bound his ankles together and his wrists to his opposite elbows behind his back prohibited the act, leaving him to simply lay half submerged in the rapidly cooling water until They sent someone to fish him out. And even if he hadn't been bound, he had no towel to dry off with, meaning that he would have had to settle for sprinting for his bed to shiver as he wrapped himself in his blankets. He had done that after a few of his rare showers, and it always took his bed at least a day to dry out.

Sanji let himself sink down until only the top half of his head and his acutely bent knees remained above the surface. The pinkish, ringed tub wasn't long enough to accommodate his height, and his muscles were beginning to cramp from a combination of the tight space and his persistent shivering. He huffed through his nose, trying to dispel some of the moisture that remained trapped inside, and watched as the displaced air sent small waves rippling across the surface. His breath set the flattened soap from the bubble bath mix in motion, causing the white oily film to swirl with water tinged pink from his own blood. The deep scratches across his neck, chest, arms, and legs hadn't had the opportunity to dry out and scab over, so they continued to bleed sluggishly. Sanji swallowed and winced as the action flexed the bruising muscles in his neck. Last night's guest had been one of the worst among his regulars.

He still remembered the first time he had met her, his solitary female client. Hers was another face that he had immediately recognized from the media. She was the assistant to Iceberg, a businessman that owned the Galley-La shipping company and most of the docks in the city. He was known for his charitable works and for always having the blonde woman in tow. The two of them had had multiple business dinners and luncheons at the Baratie, and Sanji had even waited on them a few times. Every time he had fawned and fainted over the gorgeous woman, making an utter fool of himself and drawing loud, not-at-all concealed snickering from the other cooks in the kitchen. But the executive assistant had always brushed off his advances, coolly ignoring him as she focused all of her attention on her boss and whatever business was being conducted. Sanji had always been okay with the cold treatment. The lovely lady had a job to do, and who was he to interfere with his unstoppable flirting? That was until the moment when he truly met her, the woman beneath the calm, collected façade.

Kalifa. The devil in angel's skin; a high-functioning sociopath wrapped up in a pretty package.

Sanji had only been a captive for somewhere around two weeks when she had first walked through the door to his prison. He remembered his heart skipping a beat at the mere sight of her, his hopes soaring high. He had greeted her enthusiastically, despite being bound to the headboard of his bed. He had thought that he was saved. How wrong he had been.

Kalifa had given him a slow, coy smile, climbing on top of and straddling him. She had leant in close, her breath tickling his blushing cheek, and whispered her long held secrets in his ear as she raked acrylic nails across his shoulders and chest, leaving deep red gouges in the pale flesh. All those times she had eaten at his restaurant, she had noticed him and wanted him. A thrill of pleasure had vibrated through Kalifa's body as she described to him how pleased she had been to learn that he was on the menu (she'd used those exact words); that terrifying grin never leaving her face as she described in detail all of the things she wanted to do to him. That night, Sanji had learned the true scope of his situation, and that evil and brutality weren't limited to the male gender alone.

The baths had begun with her second visit less than a week later. They had come in minutes before her arrival, pulled Sanji bodily from the bed, bound him, and unceremoniously dropped him into the scalding, bubbly water. At that point, he was still desperately clinging to the last threads of his hope and humanity, and he had sworn loudly at them, thrashing futilely against his bonds as the hot water stung his skin. His small act of defiance had earned him a rough yank of hair and a warning to behave. Then They had left him there, panting and shivering, despite the heat of the water, as he waited for his guest to arrive.

As it turned out, Kalifa had little interest in the act of bathing itself, or even in the water. Rather, her true obsession lay in the soap. She grew more and more excited with every one of Sanji's sharp intakes of breath as she scrubbed at fresh wounds; she laughed when the bubbly mixture stung at his eyes; and she became visibly aroused when she held him beneath the surface until he thought he would pass out. Sanji come out of the experience raw and aching, and They had even given him the next day off from any guests in order to allow the angry red scratch marks to heal.

Kalifa began requesting the aphrodisiac with his second bath. They had bound and drugged him in preparation, leaving a length of the same nylon cord that circled his arms and ankles lying on the edge of the tub. When the blonde had arrived, she'd wasted no time in massaging Sanji's member to life and then wrapping the cord around the base of his cock, telling him all the while how she wanted him to enjoy his "bath time" too. An overwhelming sense of shame flooded his heart at the same time that the soapy water flooded his lungs as Kalifa held him under the water and rode him and arousal washed over his body. It shouldn't have felt good, but it did. His hips shouldn't have bucked upwards as his cock throbbed with want, but they did. And he shouldn't have moaned with pleasure in the rare moments that he was given access to air, but he did.

Soon, Kalifa's visits became more frequent, and Sanji's spirit and resolve weakened. By his fourth bath, Kalifa's ritual had become routine and he had stopped struggling, lying completely still beneath her as she held him under the surface until he was giddy from lack of oxygen and his body felt like it would shut down. Part of him had wished that he would finally succumb to her torture and relieve him of his miserable life. On some level, Sanji wanted desperately to drown in that stained bathtub, but something always kept him from just opening his mouth and breathing in the soapy water.

But last night's visit had been different. As soon as he had been submerged, panic had set in. He couldn't die. He had hope again. Marimo had promised to save him, and if he drowned, it would all be in vain. Sanji knew that Kalifa wouldn't kill him; They wouldn't allow it. But that didn't stop him from fighting against her grip, flailing beneath her as he struggled to throw her from his body and as he pushed back against her choke hold around his neck. Months ago, he would have easily overpowered the small woman, but that night a combination between still-healing injuries, muscle fatigue, and his bonds kept him in place, and he had only managed to irritate her. Sanji's resurgence of defiance had provoked a whole new sadistic streak from Kalifa. She had hit him, scratched him more deeply than ever before, and held him under until his lungs screamed for air and his head spun.

Now, as he lay in the tepid water, all he could think about was the pain. His nose, palate, and throat stung from the water he had inhaled; and his lungs and stomach ached from the moisture trapped inside. Every breath he drew rattled around in his chest, and he had to clench his teeth to quell each wave of nausea that the vital action created. Sanji coughed and involuntarily whimpered, his arms tensing behind his back as he swallowed the bile that had risen to burn at his tongue. The mixture of blood and soap scum that swirled in the greasy bath water was already bad enough. He didn't want to add anything more to the disgusting mixture. He hated to think what would happen when They finally came in. The state of the bathroom with its stained tub and soaking wet floor wasn't his fault, but there was no doubt that he would be punished nonetheless. After all, most of the splashes of water over the edge had been his doing. Not nearly as big of a mess would have been made if he hadn't struggled. Not to mention all of the fresh scratches and bruises. There was a strong possibility that They would beat him. If They determined that the injuries Kalifa had left were bad enough that he couldn't work, what was to stop Them from teaching him a painful lesson? He hadn't received any sort of rough treatment by his captors in a few weeks, and the thought of what might be waiting for him made Sanji nervous.

Sanji gave his head a violent shake, sending cold droplets of water flying as he tried to clear his mind of panicky thoughts. There was no point in dwelling on what may be, even if it was inevitable. It would only make his wait that much more agonizing. Exhaling a rattling breath, he closed his eyes and tried his best to think of something comforting. His list was painfully short and shrinking by the day, but had one new addition that brought him almost instant relief.

Marimo.

It had been close to three weeks since the man had spent the night with him in the wake of Crocodile's visit. Since then, he had seen Marimo four more times; and Crocodile had called on him twice. Sanji wasn't sure how, but Marimo had somehow managed to schedule each of his visits to correspond with Crocodile's, the green-haired man always arriving within hours of the brutal businessman's departure. Crocodile's last two visits hadn't been nearly as bad as the one that had almost broken him three weeks before, but they had still left him in a fair amount of pain. Every time, the man had been there for him, holding him in his warm embrace and navigating his bruised and broken skin with the gentlest of touches.

Through all of it, Marimo rarely showed any of his frightening rage. On a few occasions, Sanji had seen dangerous hatred flash in that gunmetal eye, hardening his gaze with murderous intent when calloused fingers came in contact with a particularly deep bruise or angry welt. The worst had been the first time Marimo had reached between Sanji's legs with saliva slicked fingers to prepare him, only to pull them away stained red with blood. No matter how gentle the man tried to be, sex following a night with Crocodile was always painful for Sanji and it was impossible for him to stifle the small whimpers that broke free of his lungs or the grimaces that twisted his face. Every time, Marimo would pause in the middle of whatever he was doing to caress Sanji's cheek with his warm wide palm and plant soft kisses on tear-streaked cheeks and eyelids until the pain subsided and Sanji relaxed.

It was still difficult for Sanji to reconcile the man's gentle handling with the dangerous aura that surrounded him. With every meeting, he discovered more scars that betrayed a violent past. Other than the obvious ones over his eye and across his chest, Sanji had also come across matching scars that circled Marimo's ankles and a multitude of smaller knicks and scratches that had obviously been deep enough to permanently mar his tanned flesh. Just what did the man do for a living to earn so many injuries? Bellamy had tauntingly told him that Marimo was an assassin hired by Them to keep people in line. The guard had even called the man by the nickname "Swordsman". Just the thought of it sent jolts of fear running through Sanji's system. It wasn't so hard to believe that his gentle lover was a killer, but…

A loud thunk followed by an echoing gurgle pulled Sanji from his visions of Marimo. Opening his eyes, he felt his body tense as he watched a small whirlpool form over the drain at his feet. He had somehow kicked the cover away, and the cool water that served as his only protection against the even colder air was slowly beginning to slip down the clogged pipe. At best, he would have another twenty minutes before his wet skin was completely exposed. Sanji gritted his teeth and clenched his hands until his nails dug painfully into his palms, his shivering intensifying just at the thought of laying soaking wet in the empty bathtub. He could already feel the water receding, leaving inch after agonizing inch of abused skin exposed to the conditioned air.

All too soon, Sanji's watery barrier disappeared down the drain and true cold set in. If he thought that his chattering teeth had been bad before, it was nothing compared to the new chill that now gripped him. He shook from head to toe, each drop of water searing his skin as they dripped from wet hair, causing goosebumps to erupt across quivering flesh. Sanji wanted so badly to get out of the damned bathtub. Scratch that. He wanted Marimo. A whining sigh escaped his lungs as he imagined what it would be like to be wrapped in the man's embrace, to have those strong arms around him as they lay beneath the thin blankets on his hard bed, drifting off to sleep with Marimo's uncanny body heat soaking into him as he breathed in his unique scent, ran his fingers through green hair, and nuzzled into tanned skin.

His shivering subsided slightly, but still maintained an uncomfortable pace. The water level had sunk down to a few mere inches, leaving Sanji almost completely exposed. Without the protective cocoon created by the water, Sanji could feel the depth of the scratches Kalifa had left behind, the marks on his chest and shoulders aching with much more potency than they had before. He was also beginning to notice new injuries. The nylon cord that circled his ankles had worn the wetted skin away; he could see sores blossoming bright red on pale skin, staining the brightly colored fibers, and based on the itching pain that nagged at his wrists, he guessed that his arms were suffering the same fate.

Sanji managed to draw his shaking legs up to his chest with only a little difficulty, the action causing him to slide deeper into the tub until his bound arms stopped any further progress. He furrowed his brow and tried once again to stop his teeth from chattering by clenching his jaw painfully tight as he lay curled and shaking in the bottom of the empty bathtub. The intense cold had permeated every muscle, sinew, and tissue, seeming to penetrate straight to the marrow of his bones. No amount of daydreaming or intense shivering or steady breathing seemed to help. He was doomed to be forever cold, cut off from the world by a layer of icy, numbed skin. Sanji hoped with no small amount of desperation that Marimo would be the one to find him. It was foolish, but if ever there were someone that could bring warmth back into his frozen body, it was him.

Somewhere over the deafening sound of his own teeth vibrating off one another, Sanji heard the bolts on his door slide back and he twitched in the bottom of the tub, straining his ears as he tried to listen for any voice or indication of who it might be. Soon, he heard footsteps in the living area beyond the bathroom, the heavy booted steps somehow loud despite the muffling effects of the worn carpet. There was only one person he could think of whose gait was so loud. Sanji breathed a sigh of relief. Marimo really did have impeccable timing.

"I…I-I'm in h-here." His voice was weak from cold and shaky from shivering, but he hoped that the man could hear him nonetheless. Sanji wasn't sure how much more of the intense chill he could stand. He wanted desperately to feel warm again; he would give anything for it. "M-Marimo! I'm—I'm in th-the b-bathroom!"

"I know where you are, asshole."

Sanji's eyes snapped open. That wasn't Marimo's voice.

A whole new wave of despair rolled over him and he curled further in on himself, fear making him shiver as much as the cold. It had been stupid of him to assume those footsteps belonged to the man. Marimo wasn't the only one he knew who tromped around as if he were trying to put holes in the floor. He had foolishly let his wishful thinking outrun reason and reality, making the disappointment sting all the more.

He felt a rough hand tangle in his hair, and he couldn't suppress a pained yelp as he was dragged from the empty tub by his roots and dropped in the puddled water on the bathroom floor. Sanji curled into a protective fetal position, squeezing his eyes closed in anticipation of some physical attack that never came.

"Look at the mess you made," growled Bellamy as he loomed over his cowering captive. Sanji felt a booted foot rest on his shoulder, the dirt on the sole stinging as it came in contact with one of Kalifa's scratch marks. The blond guard shoved him over onto his back and rough fingers began to clumsily work at the knotted cord around his ankles. "You're lucky the good doctor is with me, or I'd be teaching you a lesson right now."

Sanji felt the nylon fall away and he barely managed to get his feet under him as he was pulled upright by a combined grip on his hair and his elbow. He swayed slightly as he stood, dizzy after the hours spent lying down, and shivered against Bellamy's bruising grip around his bicep.

"We don't have all day," grumbled the blond, shoving Sanji out of the cramped bathroom.

Still unsteady on his feet, Sanji tripped over nothing, bumping into the doorframe as he staggered out of the bathroom and into the adjoining washroom. A steadying hand caught his shoulder just before he fell against the faux marble sink, and he leaned heavily against it until the room stopped moving enough that he could stand on his own. Slowly opening his eyes, Sanji found himself being supported by one of Their more humane doctors.

The doctor was a young man, not much older than Sanji, but he was brilliant. There had been more than one occasion that he had had to patch up the captive chef, and not a single wound that he had treated had left a permanent physical scar. He moved with the practiced ease of a surgeon, his calm, serious demeanor and intelligence belying experience outside of that of a simple mob doctor. Though Sanji wasn't sure at which hospital the man possibly could have worked. At first glance, the doctor looked more like a juvenile delinquent than a physician, with his dark spiky hair, myriad of tattoos, and sardonic smirk. Sanji had even secretly given him the nickname "Surgeon of Death" for the word tattooed across the fingers of each hand.

But, for all of the misconceptions one could have just from the man's exterior, the doctor had only ever been gentle in his treatment of Sanji, healing his wounds and, for the briefest moments, shielding him from further harm.

The doctor studied Sanji with a guarded expression, the slight downward turn of his mouth giving the only indication of his concern. Sanji waited patiently, his muscles still quivering from the cold, as the other man wordlessly cataloged every fresh scratch and bruise on his body. After several minutes of tense shivering silence, the doctor sighed and raised his gaze to meet Sanji's eyes.

"She was rougher than usual this time, yeah?" he asked, stepping around behind Sanji and loosening the cord that still bound his arms.

Sanji nodded dumbly, hugging his arms around his body as soon as they were freed. The doctor's eyebrows drew together for a moment, and then his expression neutralized once again. With a gentle hand on the shoulder, he ushered Sanji toward the bed.

"I'll see what I can do, but you might not be able to see anyone for a few days."

A small amount of dread rose from Sanji's stomach to grip at his heart. He had seen this coming, but the thought of entertaining Them for the next day or two while he healed was terrifying nonetheless. He would rather spend the night with ten Kalifa's than any one of Them, particularly the higher-ups that seemed to like him so much.

He heard Bellamy chuckle from the door to the washroom.

"Maybe the Boss will pay you a visit," taunted the guard, making Sanji's blood run cold.

"Shut up, Bellamy," muttered the doctor with an exasperated sigh. He gently pushed Sanji down onto the bed and opened the medical bag that he had left on the foot end. "He's out of town this week, you know that."

Relief flooded Sanji's system at the statement and he found himself having to suppress a small smirk. The doctor had no fondness for the blond guard whatsoever, and he never hesitated to show his dislike. His frequent and annoyed orders for the other man to shut up were the only reason that Sanji even knew Bellamy's name. By contrast, he didn't know any of the others' names; They were always careful to keep Their identities secret. Sanji supposed that Their secrecy was meant to act as yet another layer of security. As if Sanji's being locked up in a mysterious hotel room hundreds of feet up and completely nude wasn't enough; in the unlikely event that he ever were to escape, he wouldn't have any names to give to police, only faces.

He heard Bellamy grumble under his breath, apparently unable to come up with a decent retort. The doctor pointedly ignored the guard as he swabbed Sanji's injuries with antiseptic. The cleaning solution stung as it was applied, but Sanji barely registered the pain through his cold-numbed skin. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused once more on stopping his teeth from chattering, trying his best not to think about the peculiar shade of purplish-blue that he had seen on his own lips in the mirror. Soon, an uncomfortable silence settled over the room, the deafening quiet only broken by the occasional sharp intake of breath from Sanji when the doctor ran his swab over a particularly deep scratch.

Each minute seemed to drag into an eternity as the doctor cleaned and dressed Sanji's wounds, taping gauze over the deeper scratches and then further affixing them with a roll of cotton bandages. He carefully wrapped the fabric around his shoulders, arms, and chest, carefully tying it off and using the remainder to cover the sores around Sanji's wrists, elbows, and ankles. Sanji welcomed the new insulation against the chill of his room, even if it did come with frightening consequences. His shivering was even beginning to subside, until Bellamy chose to break the silence.

"The Swordsman was asking about you again," he said.

Sanji opened his eyes, daring to turn and make eye contact with the guard. Bellamy met his stunned gaze with a mocking smirk.

"I think the Boss might be getting suspicious. He thinks the Swordsman likes you a little too much," continued Bellamy. He laughed. "Maybe he'll make him off your old man to prove his loyalty."

Sanji recoiled at the crude suggestion. Could it be true? Surely, Marimo wouldn't—but he had known all of those things about him. From the sounds of it, the man had visited the Baratie; he knew Zeff's routine, he knew the staff. What if he had learned all of those things about Sanji simply because he had been assigned to? What if all of those nights spent wrapped in Marimo's warm embrace had only been a build up, only to tear it all away by killing those he held most dear? They had always promised him swift retribution if he misbehaved, and had delivered on Their word every time; though it had always been through attacks on Sanji's body, not his friends and family.

Sanji squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head, trying to keep his emotions in check and his trust in Marimo intact. The man genuinely cared for him; he had demonstrated as much through his actions. So, he wouldn't possibly—he couldn't—

"Shut up, Bellamy," sighed the doctor. Sanji could almost feel him roll his eyes. "Don't talk about things you don't know anything about, yeah? It just makes you sound even dumber than you already are."

Bellamy let out an angry growl. "I don't get it. Why do you defend him?"

Sanji heard him stomp across to the room, the muscles in his back and shoulders tensing when he felt the larger man's presence a few mere inches away.

"What's his appeal?" spat Bellamy. "Is it because he looks like a girl?" He roughly grabbed a fist full of Sanji's hair, yanking his head painfully to the side. "Look at him; he's shaking. He's such a fucking coward."

Sanji wanted to make a scathing retort; three months ago, he would have. He had even attacked Bellamy once, early in his captivity. The beating he had received as punishment had nearly killed him. Since then, the guard's verbal and physical abuse had intensified day by day as he asserted more and more of his dominance over Sanji.

"Maybe I should just fuck him and find out for myself," whispered Bellamy, leaning in painfully close. Sanji could feel Bellamy's hot breath on his cheek as he spoke, a combination between the sensation and the suggestion sending chills running up and down his spine.

"No, you won't."

Both Sanji and Bellamy turned their undivided attention to the doctor when he spoke. The doctor spared Sanji the briefest glance, and then turned his glare on Bellamy.

"He needs two days to heal. I'm reserving him for both days," explained the doctor, his voice cold. Bellamy began to complain, but he cut him off. "If you have a problem with it, take it up with the Boss when he gets back. You know he'll take my side." He roughly tapped a finger against the wrist of the hand Bellamy had tangled in Sanji's hair. "Now, let go of my patient and leave. Don't come back for two days."

Bellamy growled low and fisted Sanji's hair more tightly as if trying to gauge how serious the doctor was being. Then, with a rough jerking movement that nearly toppled Sanji over, he let go of him and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The doctor watched after the retreating guard for a moment, and then returned his attention to dressing Sanji's wounds. Sanji watched in silence, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. The doctor had never spent any more time than necessary with him, coming in to check on his health or treat new injuries or make sure he had properly performed his duties or whatever, and then promptly leaving. He had never expressed any interest in using Sanji as the others did, and now he had reserved him for two days? What did he want to do? Sanji didn't know the doctor well enough to just ask him outright, leaving him to sit quietly and wait for an answer.

"I'm not staying, if that what you're thinking," the doctor finally said as he finished bandaging the last of Sanji's injuries.

Sanji frowned. "So, I'm spending the next two days alone?" he dared to ask, meeting the doctor's dark gaze.

"No." The doctor turned away and began to repack his medical bag. "There will be someone here with you."

The doctor was being cryptic, which wasn't unusual, but it still made Sanji nervous.

"Who?" blurted Sanji, unable to stop the syllable before it slipped from his lips.

His question earned him a sharp glare, and Sanji somehow managed to maintain eye contact, emboldened by his curiosity. The doctor smirked.

"You know him, actually." He glanced at the clock by the bed. "He should be here any minute."

As if on cue, there was a sharp knock at the door. The doctor's smirk widened into a small smile and he got up to let the mystery guest in. Sanji found himself holding his breath as he watched the doctor walk the few feet from the corner of the bed to the door. The doctor hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the knob and one eyebrow raised as he glanced back at Sanji, and then he pulled open the door.

Sanji gasped, his eyes immediately drawn to the all-too-familiar green hair. He looked from Marimo to the doctor and back again, not quite believing what he was seeing. They knew each other? Had the two of them planned this? Sanji nervously began to pick at the bandages wrapped around one of his elbows. Were his injuries really severe enough to warrant the amount of time the doctor had prescribed? He didn't understand. None of Them had ever afforded him any sort of kindness, so why was the doctor suddenly granting him two whole days with the only person that brought him any comfort? What was the motive? Panic made his heart flutter, his fingers digging painfully into the scratches under the bandages. Nothing came without a price and this promised to be expensive.

Warm hands closed around Sanji's fingers, pulling them away before he could do any more damage to the freshly wrapped bandages. He opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed and met Marimo's gunmetal gaze. The man's one grey eye was softened with concern, his arched eyebrows knitted slightly together as he held Sanji's cold fingers in a tight grip. It was then that Sanji realized he was still shivering.

"You're freezing," said Marimo. He released one hand from around Sanji's fingers and ran it through his still damp hair. "And you're wet. Why are you wet?"

Sanji gave him a weak smirk in reply, the surprise of seeing the man again stealing his words away. When he only continued to silently shake, Marimo pulled him forward and trapped him against his chest, pausing only to wrap his oversized coat around both of them.

Under normal circumstances, Sanji would have felt stupid. For all intents and purposes, he was being treated like a child. He didn't recall being held that way since Zeff had come and scared his nightmares away when he was a kid. Even the other times that Marimo had visited, any embrace had always been under the covers. But for all of the embarrassment that he might have felt, Sanji found himself oddly comforted by the act. He pressed himself against the man's body, greedily absorbing as much of his body heat as possible. When Bellamy had walked into the bathroom and dragged him from the tub, Sanji had forsaken any chance at seeing Marimo again. Now, lying against him, wrapped up in his warmth and listening to his steady heartbeat, somehow boomingly loud even through a thick layer of blue fleece, he was almost able to forget his earlier despair.

"Why is he wet?" asked Marimo, his voice rumbling through Sanji's body. Sanji felt the man's arms tighten around him as he turned to face the doctor—who he had completely forgotten was still there—by the door.

"Found him in the bath," replied the doctor brusquely.

Both men were silent for a moment, and Sanji guessed by the way Marimo squeezed protectively at his bandaged shoulders that they were having some sort of unspoken conversation. Sanji burrowed deeper into the warm confines of the man's coat, relishing in the softness of the fleece stretched across the firm muscles; the strangeness of his own human radiator wearing a sweater barely registering in his mind. Soon, his shivering began to subside, and he tilted his head up to peek over the lapel of Marimo's coat.

"I'll be fine," Sanji tried to reassure both men.

A small grin twitched at the corners of the doctor's mouth. "In that case, I'll see you in two days then, yeah?"

Sanji nodded, moving further into Marimo's embrace as the doctor reached for the door.

"Oi, Heartstealer," called Marimo, causing the doctor to pause. Sanji twitched at the odd nickname, his breath catching in his lungs as he listened to every word the man said to the doctor. "Don't forget, there's a meeting at the usual place tonight. Tell the Captain that I'm sorry I couldn't make it."

The doctor smirked. "Tell him yourself at the next one, Pirate Hunter."

And then he was gone.

Sanji frowned, ducking his head down and settling back into the warm little tent created by Marimo's coat. All of the code names were starting to wear on his nerves. And now there were secret meetings? And who was this "Captain"? Sanji wasn't sure how to feel about what he'd just heard. Had they been talking about a meeting within the organization that held him captive? Or was it some sort of outside group? And Marimo and the doctor seemed quite familiar with each other, not that Sanji was jealous or anything. But it raised more questions than he could ever hope to have answers to.

"You okay?" asked Marimo, giving him a small shake.

Sanji looked up at him and quirked a curly eyebrow. "Heartstealer?"

Marimo raised his arm to rub awkwardly at the back of his head, displacing the coat from around Sanji's shoulders and sending a wave of chilled air rushing across his skin.

"Yeah, I know. It's stupid," he muttered, looking anywhere but Sanji's eyes. "The girls came up with it. They said that it 'suited' him or whatever."

"Girls?" asked Sanji, his voice cracking slightly under the strain of the word.

"You'll meet them when we get you out of here; them and everyone else."

"We?" Sanji pulled away from the man, scooting backwards on the bed until his back rested against the headboard and they were no longer touching. He was getting angry for some reason, though he couldn't quite figure out why. "Just how many of you are there?"

"I don't see why that matters," deadpanned Marimo. "We're going to get you out of here. Why should you care about how many of us there are?"

"It matters because…well, because it does!" spat Sanji, no longer caring about keeping his voice down. He could feel his body shaking, though he wasn't sure whether it was from cold or fear or anger. Maybe from a combination. "What if they can't all be trusted? What if one of them betrays us? What if this fails? They'll…They'll…"

Sanji's heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Panic the likes of which he only felt when impending punishment was upon him was beginning to set in. The more people there were involved, the more likely they were to have a traitor among them. If They found out, the punishment would be severe. Sanji couldn't stand the thought of earning a visit from the Boss. Those never ended well, even when they were supposedly "friendly". If he were caught trying to escape… And what would They do to Marimo? And these girls he'd spoken of? He would never forgive himself if a couple of innocent ladies ended up in the same situation because of him. Maybe it was better if they gave up on this futile plan. There didn't even seem to be a plan, anyway. What were Marimo and his friends planning on doing? Did they think they could just come in, guns blazing, and carry him out of the building naked? Were they going to call the police? They had made it pretty clear that They had connections everywhere, even within law enforcement. There was no way that this was going to work. It was impossible. It was—

"Whoa, calm down, Curlybrow," soothed Marimo, grabbing at the hands that Sanji had unwittingly tangled in his own hair. Sanji let the man pull him into another warm embrace. "Listen, I can't tell you all the details; it's too dangerous. But this is going to happen, so just trust me, okay?"

Sanji sat perfectly still, trying to focus on regulating his breathing and make sense of all of the thoughts running rampant through his mind. He wanted to trust Marimo. He wanted it so badly that it hurt. But doubt continued to linger. In every moment that he was kept from the entire truth; in every suggestion by Bellamy about Marimo's real identity; in every day, hour, minute, and second that dragged by with no real change in his circumstances, doubt found a foothold.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got you something," said Marimo.

"Liar," muttered Sanji, fisting his hands in the man's sweater.

"I am not."

"Yes, you are. You're just trying to change the subject."

"No. Look…" Marimo pushed him away and began to pull off the sweater.

Sanji gave him a deadpan stare, his eyebrow twitching slightly in annoyance. "I swear, Marimo, if you're the gift, I'll—"

Suddenly, the sweater was thrust into Sanji's hands, cutting him off midsentence. He let his mouth hang open for a moment as he simply stared at the article of clothing in his lap.

It wasn't anything fancy. There was no designer label, or any label at all for that matter. It looked more like the kind of sweatshirt that were sold in the back corner of any convenience store. Light blue and hooded, it was easily a size too small for the man, but had been stretched out when he had worn it. Sanji guessed that They wouldn't have just let him carry anything in, and that wearing it had been Marimo's only option. He reverently ran his hands over the fleece, sliding the fabric between his fingers and through his palms. The sweater was soft in the way that synthetic fabrics were soft, in a plastic sort of way that promised plenty of static. There had been a time when he would have flatly refused to wear such an abomination, but now it felt like holding the finest silk in his hands.

"This is for me?" he breathed, speaking as much to himself as he was to Marimo. He felt like he was dreaming. It had been so long since he'd last held clothing in his hands. He had long since given up hope on ever being allowed such a human comfort again.

"It's part of the plan," explained Marimo. "I'll smuggle in clothes to you over the next few weeks, and once we have enough, we'll sneak you out."

Sanji merely nodded, still enraptured by the sweatshirt spread across his lap. With shaking hands, he lifted it for further examination.

"I know it's probably not your thing," stammered Marimo, suddenly awkward once again. "The girls said that you probably had really nice clothes before…but you're always cold, so I wanted to get you something warm. And, I don't know…"—Sanji thought he could see a faint blush coloring the man's cheeks and nose.—"I thought that maybe the blue would match your eyes."

Sanji slowly lowered the sweater back into his lap. He could only stare at the other man, completely dumbfounded by the momentous gift he had just been given. How could he make the daft moss head understand? It wasn't just a cheap convenience store sweatshirt; it was a return to normalcy. With this mass of stretched out blue fleece, Sanji could take his first steps toward regaining his humanity. It felt as if he had somehow regained another piece of himself that he had thought permanently stolen away. And, once again, it had been Marimo that had given it to him.

Marimo gave him a sullen look. "You hate it."

"It's perfect," Sanji replied before the man had even finished his sentence. He hurriedly pulled the sweatshirt over his head, tangling himself momentarily in the sleeves before muscle memory kicked in and he managed to properly dress himself.

Sanji paused a moment to revel in the feeling of wearing clothes again. The poor sweatshirt was so stretched that the sleeves reached almost all the way down his hands and the hem fell well below his hips, but it was warm. The inescapable chill of his room seemed banished by the thick layer of fleece, and for the first time since his abduction, Sanji could simply sit by himself without shivering. Overwhelmed with gratitude, he leaned forward and rewarded Marimo with a kiss.

"Thank you," said Sanji when they broke apart.

Marimo's face split in a slow grin and he lunged at Sanji, toppling them both over to land on the pillows. The movement caught Sanji by surprise, earning the man a startled laugh. Marimo pulled him close, nuzzling into the junction where Sanji's fair skin disappeared under the soft fleece.

"You feel warm, shitty cook," he said, giving Sanji a slight squeeze. Sanji smiled to himself, tangling his feet within Marimo's legs while he busied his hands with running over the blue fabric. Marimo brushed some stray hair—whose lingering dampness no longer seemed to matter—away from Sanji's ear. "It's nice to see you smile."

Sanji lay quietly for several minutes, his fingers idly playing with a combination between the sweatshirt and Marimo's hands.

"So, how many more pieces were you planning for this genius ensemble?" he finally asked.

"Well, pants, of course," replied Marimo, "and shoes. Maybe a coat. Why?"

"And how long will it take?"

"Two weeks, maybe."

Sanji swallowed hard, excitement blossoming and warming him from within. Two weeks, he had said.

Only two more weeks, and he would be free.


	4. Chapter 4

Sanji lay half awake beneath his thin covers, caught somewhere between dreaming and wakefulness. Most mornings, such a state was accompanied by fear, shivering, and lingering nightmares. However, this morning, as the sun peaked from between the tall buildings facing him and illuminated his room in its golden glow, Sanji found himself equally lit from within. He had seen Marimo only three days before, and the memory of the night they had spent together, added to the comfort brought by the knowledge that his new clothes and ticket to freedom were within an arm's reach, warmed him to his core. Sanji's body still trembled slightly from the ever present chill in the room, but he barely felt the cold for the heat created by the flame of hope that had ignited in his chest. Only one article of clothing remained: shoes. That meant that with Marimo's next visit would come his freedom.

A week had passed since the two day sojourn given to them by the doctor. In that time, Marimo had managed to smuggle in another two articles of clothing: a pair of drawstring sweatpants and a t-shirt. Both pieces were of the same quality as the sweatshirt before them. Sanji guessed that Marimo wasn't working with much by way of a budget, but that hardly concerned him. He had received each piece with enthusiasm, trying them on and wearing the entire ensemble for the better part of the night, only removing them when Marimo gently coaxed each layer from his body. They had somehow fallen into a loose routine in which the man would arrive, present Sanji with his newest gift of clothing, and then they would simultaneously strip each other. For Sanji, it was both exhilarating and liberating to be equally dressed and undressed before his green-haired lover. It marked a level of humanity that he had thought forgotten and unattainable.

Now, all of the clothes were bundled up and carefully hidden in the mattress beneath him. He had managed to find a small snag in the thin fabric that covered the underside of the box spring on the side of the bed that faced the window. During the two days he had spent with Marimo, they had taken turns pulling at the loose threads and widening the hole until all of the clothing could be shoved up inside, effectively hiding them from prying eyes. A small amount of uneasiness still nagged at the back of Sanji's mind. If They found a single article of the clothing, it almost certainly meant a punishment the likes of which he had yet to experience and worse for Marimo. But his impending freedom deadened any real trepidation. It was hard to dwell on such negative thoughts when Marimo had become such a strong and unwavering light at the end of Their long, dark tunnel.

Smiling to himself, Sanji snuggled more deeply under his covers until only his sleep-tangled hair remained exposed. He sighed contentedly and pulled the awful "Home Sweet Home" pillow over, hugging it securely to his chest. Marimo had taken to sleeping on the thing, permanently imbuing it with his unique scent. Sanji buried his nose in the gaudy stitching and took a deep calming breath. He hadn't had a single guest since Marimo's visit three days ago; neither Crocodile nor Kalifa or anyone. Hell, They hadn't even bothered with him, only sending in Bellamy once a day with food. But even the guard had been unusually passive, choosing to sling insults rather than punches. Normally, the gentle handling would have made Sanji suspicious, and it really probably should have, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. The hope and excitement of impending freedom buzzed like an electric pulse throughout his entire system, completely occupying his every thought. Let Them play Their mind games. In a few days' time, Marimo would return and help him to escape his prison. Sanji hummed and nuzzled deeper into the pillow, picturing his entrance at the Baratie.

He would come limping in through the front door like a soldier fresh from the battlefield, Marimo protectively by his side. Patty, the great buffoon, would probably be on host duty, scaring away the patrons with his crude demeanor. The cook would go all pale and blubbering at seeing Sanji after so long. Then he would express his feelings in the only way he knew, through mock anger and knee-buckling thumps on the back. He would yell at Sanji for worrying them and leaving the kitchen short staffed, all while simultaneously screaming at the frightened waiters to go and find Zeff.

When the old geezer would finally make his appearance, he'd be quiet for a moment, assessing the state of his wayward son. They would stand just out of reach of each other, both of them too proud to make the first move. Then Zeff, being the secret softie that he really was, would wrap Sanji in a bone crushing hug—the kind that he hadn't had since he was a child learning to cope with being adopted. Father and son would remain trapped in the rare public display of affection for several minutes, both men trembling as they tried to keep their emotions in check in front of the boisterous staff. Then Zeff would finally pull away, his face all sternness and seriousness but for the moisture collected in his eyes.

"You're late, Eggplant," he would say.

Sanji wouldn't even care that he was an adult being called by a childhood nickname. He would let it go for the sake of the moment and simply let the old man continue.

Zeff would grin at him, proud of his son for surviving and returning home. "Well, what are you waiting for, you shitty brat? Get to the kitchen! The dinner rush is about to start!"

Sanji's smile widened to a grin. What he imagined wasn't the perfect homecoming to most, not by a long stretch, but it so fitted his odd family. When he was free, he wanted to get back to normal life as quickly as possible. Sanji wanted more than anything to be back in his kitchen, yelling at the other cooks while he performed his duties with practiced ease. Soon this would all be a distant memory; a nightmare to keep him up at night, only to be banished with the morning sun and a new day. He knew that it would be difficult at first to readjust to his old life. The months of loneliness and torture that he had endured at Their hands would always be with him. But with the steadfast support of his family and the routine of normal life, Sanji was confident that he would be able to leave his shitty hotel room and all of its horrors behind him. He was still strong, in spite of all that had happened; Marimo had shown him that, and he would never let Them take that away ever again.

He couldn't help but to wonder what would become of Marimo after all of this was over. The man was a part of Their organization, after all; though he didn't seem to align himself with Them. Surely, he wouldn't be arrested for his efforts. Sanji hoped that Marimo's good deeds outweighed whatever bad he may have committed on Their behalf. But would he still want to see him? Their relationship was so confusing when it was no longer confined to Sanji's little room—if it could even be called a relationship. Marimo knew so much about him and Sanji didn't even know his real name. He knew his aliases. The man had more nicknames than a character in a fantasy novel. And there were the assumptions and conclusions that he had drawn from Marimo's appearance and demeanor, but what about the rest?

What were his friends like? His family? Did he even have a family? What were his favorite foods? Did he prefer coffee or tea? More importantly, did he want to be in a relationship? Circumstances beyond their control had forced the two of them together. When this was over and the threat of pain and punishment no longer lingered, would Marimo still want to be with him intimately?

Sanji frowned. Would he want that?

After being used so many times against his will, it only seemed appropriate to swear off sex, but just the thought of no longer seeing Marimo—of not touching him or smelling him or being held in his warm embrace—made his heart ache with longing. He had become so enraptured with the other man, all of his hopes, dreams, and even his well-being wrapped up in the enigma that was Marimo. Whatever happened, Sanji wanted desperately to remain near him. He wanted to know the man outside of the hell They had created.

Suddenly, he heard a faint crackling pop and then the high-pitched ringing that was completely unique to old tubular televisions. They had apparently decided to break Their silence and torture Sanji with the remotely controlled TV that sat in the massive entertainment center. It had been so long since They had turned on the ancient device that Sanji had nearly forgotten its existence. It was impossible to ignore now however, as it was blaring some local car commercial at a near deafening level.

Sanji grumbled to himself and rolled over beneath the sheets so he faced the window, pulling the blankets the rest of the way over his head in an attempt to muffle the sound. If They were trying to get a rise out of him, it wouldn't work; he wouldn't allow it. He had to be strong again. No more falling for the bait that They laid.

He lay quietly beneath the covers, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to ignore the blaring television and go back to fantasizing about his impending freedom. But the commercials were persistent and the volume only continued to increase. As soon as the car salesman had stopped screaming about "new low, low prices!" there was a startlingly similar carpet commercial, followed by one for a fast food restaurant that, sadly, made Sanji's stomach growl in spite of himself, and then a promo for some new prime time sitcom. Sanji huffed irritably. He had a famously short fuse, and the damned television was burning it dangerously close to ignition.

Then, quite suddenly, there was no sound at all. At first he thought that They had grown bored and turned the tv off, but the old tubes' persistent ringing told him that it was only on mute. Sanji shrugged beneath his blankets. He would take the reprieve, even with its high pitched ringing. Anything to escape those damned obnoxious ads.

Releasing a pent up breath, he allowed himself to relax as bored fatigue made his eyelids droop. He pictured the bundle of clothing stuffed in the mattress beneath him, imagining that the scratchy sheets around him were actually the soft staticy fleece, and felt any lingering tension unwind. He was just on the edge of sleep, all but deaf to the TV's high pitched ringing, when the device blared to life once again.

"Today on the Metro Morning News: Was a local restaurant the victim of arson? More on this breaking news and the possible casualties after the break."

Sanji shot straight up in bed, suddenly very, very awake. He whipped his head around fast enough that he felt his neck pop. He just barely managed to catch a glimpse of a burned out store front before the station changed back to commercials. Sanji swallowed thickly. The blackened windows had had a hauntingly familiar shape and he could have sworn that he had seen a fish-shaped sign swinging over the door. He stared at the rolling ads for dating websites and tropical vacation spas with glazed over eyes, the wild beast of panic starting to rise from its brief slumber.

That couldn't have been the Baratie, could it? It was a big city; surely there were other restaurants that looked similar. After all, what little he had seen before the picture changed wasn't much to go by. The interior of the building had been pitch black and the smoke patterns that curled up the bricks above the door and windows had completely obscured any guess at color. Maybe he had just been seeing things when he had seen the Baratie's unique sign above the door. He had just been daydreaming about the restaurant.

Sanji continued to watch the television with rapt attention, fisting the sheets on either side of him as the damned commercials seemed to play on without end. He needed an answer, dammit. Just the thought of Them reaching outside of his shitty hotel room to harm his family made him sick. The news anchor had said "possible casualties". Sanji's eyebrows drew together, his body trembling as the previously banished cold found its way back in, doubt following in after it. His old man couldn't be…the geezer was tougher than to…Zeff wouldn't just…Sanji shook his head violently. Fuck. He couldn't even finish the thought. He wouldn't allow himself to.

The intro music began to play and Sanji found himself leaning forward in anticipation, unconsciously pulling aside the covers and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He flexed and curled his toes against the worn carpet, fidgeting as he impatiently waited for the big-haired anchors to finish with their pointless small talk and get on with telling the promised story. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they introduced the on-scene reporter.

The picture changed to reveal a serious-looking young reporter standing on a sidewalk surrounded by curious onlookers who waved and stuck out their tongues at the camera. Behind him, Sanji could see several emergency vehicles, including two fire engines, an ambulance, and a healthy number of police. Crime scene tape barred the public's entry to the scene; and between the reporter, the people on the street, and all of the first responders, Sanji could barely make out the subject of the news story.

He swore to himself and took a seat on the coffee table, adjusting the blanket he had pulled from the bed and wrapped around himself so he could sit more comfortably. He couldn't see enough to tell if it was the Baratie. The street look vaguely familiar, but then all of the streets in that part of the city tended to look the same, what with the tall grey buildings that towered over the upscale restaurants and shops. That was why he and Zeff had decided to get that ridiculous fish sign for the restaurant. The brightly colored wooden placard had set the Baratie apart from the rest, drawing in new customers and helping returning regulars to find them. Without being about to see the restaurant's distinguishing features, he would have to wait for the reporter.

"Police and firemen were called to the scene of a possible arson this morning," began the reporter with an urgent tone. Sanji leaned farther forward, barely perched on the coffee table as he listened intently. "The victim? A local favorite, the—"

The TV flickered and turned off. Sanji's pounding heart seemed to stop midbeat. He stared at the black, lifeless screen in a mixture of confusion and panic, gripping his blanket around him tightly enough that he could feel his finger nails bending against the fabric.

"No."

The word came out as barely a whisper. Sanji's chest felt tight, the air in the room suddenly too thick to breathe. He slowly slid off of the coffee table to kneel before the TV.

"Please, no. Don't just turn off. Come on. I need to know who—Please?"

When the television remained defiantly indifferent to Sanji's begging, he inched towards it and reached out with a shaking hand to caress the statically charged plastic. He could feel tears burning at the backs of his eyes. Was this why They had been so quiet? Sanji wanted desperately for Them to only be toying with him; for Them to be using suggestion and stress to break him down when in reality Zeff and the others and the Baratie were okay. But something told him that his small amount of optimism was in vain. Deep down, Sanji was certain that the worst had happened.

"Please turn back on," he pleaded. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the domed screen. "Please? I'll—I'll do anything. Please, just turn back on."

But the television remained silent and dark, its presence almost menacing in the frigid room. Sanji remained in front of the device, his knees beginning to ache and itch from their prolonged contact with the aged carpet. Time seemed to drag by as he waited for an answer. He watched the sun move across the room from his awkwardly bent position, his eyelids fluttering every now and then as he fought off sleep.

In spite of himself, his mind began to wander. He saw the destroyed restaurant burn in reverse, the heat of the fire searing his skin even in his imagination. The smoke poured backwards down the side of the building to be sucked into the gaping maw that had once been the main display window. The fish-shaped sign swung wildly over the door, as if the burning wood was alive and desperately trying to flee its demise. A massive mushroom shaped cloud of smoke and flames retreated into the building, repairing the formerly shattered display window as the inferno receded into the back of the restaurant.

Sanji frowned as he watched the unusual sight. So, the fire must have started in the kitchen. Based off of the rewinding explosion, the gas stoves must have blown.

Soon, the fire was gone and Sanji was left staring at the Baratie. He felt a lump rise in his throat at having just watched his passion, the old man's dream, and his childhood home meet such a violent end. In the back of his mind, logic told Sanji that he was only dreaming. This was only speculation; he had no proof that it was actually the Baratie that had burned.

But his imagination didn't let him dwell on the thought for long. Soon he saw a vaguely familiar figure backwards walking toward the restaurant. Seeing the fire burn in reverse had been strange, but watching people move that way was almost comical and Sanji found himself having to suppress a strained laugh. The man, whoever he was, kept his face hidden from view as he disappeared into the restaurant.

Sanji furrowed his brow. The man had been dressed in all black with the hood of his sweatshirt drawn up to hide his face. Based on the way he had been moving, he could only guess that this was who had started the fire.

The mystery man wasn't in the Baratie for more than five minutes before Sanji could see two backs heading for the door. One was the man, the other he recognized immediately as Zeff. The stubborn old geezer had been wearing that same shitty winter coat for as long as Sanji could remember. The two of them stopped on the stoop while Zeff fiddled with the door. It appeared that the man had caught Zeff as he was just arriving at the restaurant. He could see his old man struggling with the lock as he growled menacingly at the hooded man, who firmly stood his ground against the formidable chef.

But Sanji wasn't really looking at his adoptive father anymore. The hood on the mysterious arsonist had slid back, revealing tanned skin and hair that was a shade of green completely unique to only one person.

Marimo.

If Sanji's heart had stopped before, it was making up for it now. The organ was beating at twice its normal rate, seemingly throwing itself against the inside of his ribcage in an attempt to flee the painful confines of his body. Suddenly, as if some cosmic switch had been flipped, the world inside Sanji's head began to move in the right direction. He watched as Marimo ran up the sidewalk to meet Zeff at the door, pulling the hood that had nearly fallen from his head back into position as he spoke heatedly with the old man. Then both of them disappeared into the Baratie, their body language and wild gestures indicating the excitement and emotion of their discussion.

Had Zeff been smiling? Had Marimo told him that Sanji had been found? That he was alive? Had that been his ruse to trick his way into the restaurant?

Sanji felt combined rage and despair clutch at his body, making him tremble as he looked on in mute horror. Zeff and Marimo disappeared into the back of the Baratie, likely into the kitchen so the chef could take inventory of his supplies. After several minutes, he saw Marimo hurry out of the building, moving in the correct direction this time, and run down the sidewalk. Then came the massive explosion and the blazing inferno, but no Zeff.

Tears streamed down Sanji's face, oddly not freezing to his skin in the chilled winter air. He could hear sirens in the distance along with another sound that he couldn't quite place. He sniffed and screwed his eyes shut, trying to identify it. It sounded like a voice echoing among the buildings.

"…fighters responded to a four alarm fire early this morning at local favorite, the Baratie."

Sanji's eyes snapped open and were instantly met with the sight of the faded carpet beneath his knees. He could feel the staticy warmth of the television radiating through the skin of his forehead and the moisture left on his cheeks from the tears he had shed in his sleep.

Blinking blearily, he raised his head to look up at the screen. There was a different reporter this time. Sanji guessed that it must be close to noon, and so a fresh news team had been deployed to the scene. He sat back on his feet, ignoring the way his knees protested against the movement after so many hours spent in the same position. So, he was right; it had been the Baratie.

Only a few police cars remained at the scene and the curious crowd of onlookers had moved on. Without all of the obstacles obstructing his view, Sanji could clearly see what little remained of the restaurant where he had basically been raised. He stared numbly at the screen, the reporter's words somehow filtering through his growing despair.

"Police have determined that the fire, which occurred just after dawn, was indeed arson. They have not yet said if any bodies were found, but restaurant owner Zeff Black has been declared missing, and many presume…dead."

Sanji's mouth ran dry, his chin quivering as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. Zeff was missing, probably dead. The Baratie was gone. His home, his meager family; They had taken it all from him. What was the point in escaping now? He had nothing and no one to return to, They had seen to that. Sanji gulped and sniffed, shivering intensely under his blanket. In his peripheral vision, he could see his picture on the screen. The news was no doubt using the fire as a segue way into his own missing story. The media would be able to milk this material for at least a week. Not that it mattered. It wouldn't help.

He sat, his senses deadened to the world, and stared at the images on the screen without seeing them. He had had so much hope before and now he was empty. Sanji felt hollowed out, as if They had reached inside and scooped out his soul.

When his door opened, Sanji didn't move, not bothering to glance up to see who it was or even to twitch away in fear. He heard one person after another file in through the door, crowding the small space as They surrounded him. Sanji felt his shivering intensify, but somehow remained still and staring at the now muted television.

"Now, now, Mister Black. There's no need to look so forlorn."

Sanji closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying desperately to trap the terrified tears inside and to shut out the Boss's cruel voice. A long hand reached down and caressed the back of his head in a way that sent shuddering chills running up and down his spine.

"It's not as if you didn't bring this upon yourself," continued the Boss, his sneer evident in his tone. "You should know better by now than to think you can go against me. You're a smart boy. You should have seen this coming."

Sanji gave his head a barely perceptible shake. "But I didn't…"

The fingers tangled in his hair twitched slightly. The Boss was angry, even if he was hiding it.

"What was that? You'll have to speak up, Mister Black."

"I didn't…I didn't…" Sanji stumbled over his words, his newly regained courage failing him in light of his devastation and the fear of impending punishment.

It was all over. The Baratie was gone. Zeff was dead. And Marimo had betrayed him. Sanji had no more hope for escape, and yet, just the thought of dying at Their hands terrified him more than anything. For all of his hopelessness and despair, there was still something driving him to survive and endure.

"I'm losing my patience, Mister Black," goaded the Boss, his hand sliding down to palm the hair at the base of Sanji's head.

"I didn't…" His heart was thundering in his chest. He fisted the blanket in his hands and furrowed his brow, trying to coax out the necessary courage to speak at an audible volume.

He knew he didn't have it. They had broken him so completely that there was no point in trying. But the Boss wanted his answer and Sanji felt oddly compelled to fight back. It was pointless. Sanji couldn't understand where his defiance was coming from.

There was a flash of green behind his eyelids as Marimo suddenly materialized in his mind. Fresh rage began to bubble to the surface. How dare that green-haired bastard tempt him with freedom and then help Them to tear it all away? He wanted to kick the treacherous asshole's face in.

"Mister Bla-ack," goaded the Boss in a mocking singsong. "I'm waiting."

Sanji clenched his teeth tightly enough that his gums ached, each breath coming out in a frustrated hiss. They were going to hurt him no matter what, so why was he still hesitating?

The hand that had been idly playing with his hair began to slide down the back of his neck.

"Shall I use an alternate form of persuasion?" asked the Boss. "You know I can always make you scream."

A couple of fingers disappeared beneath the edge of the blanket; sending goosebumps erupting across Sanji's back and chills down his spine. He still wasn't sure if he had the courage to bite back.

"Well, Mister Black?"

"I didn't…"

"Speak up, please."

"I didn't…"

Sanji heard one of the others begin to unlock the bolts on the closet door as more of the Boss's hand slid beneath his blanket.

"I didn't…"

He felt the Boss shift closer to him, his breath feeling white hot as it ghosted over the wet skin on his cheek. The other man's sneer was nearly audible as he whispered in Sanji's ear.

"Tell me—"

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

The hand that had been wandering under his blanket jerked away from his skin as if it had been burned. Sanji sat frozen in place, each breath coming in a harsh gasp as he waited for the Boss's response to his outburst. Sure enough, the hand returned, gripping the hair on the back of his head hard enough to make him yelp as he was forcibly turned to face the man. Sanji's hands twitched in the blanket, but he somehow managed to avoid reaching up to clutch at the Boss's wrist.

"Look at me, Mister Black." The Boss's voice was terrifyingly calm, and Sanji could feel his breath on his face, but he kept his eyes defiantly closed in hope of trapping whatever courage remained inside. The Boss gave him a violent shake, dislodging several small clumps of hair and nearly tearing his scalp. "Look at me!"

Slowly, Sanji cracked one eye open, followed closely by the other. He could see his face, in all of its pathetic tear-streaked glory, reflected in the Boss's oddly shaped sunglasses. Sanji couldn't help but to notice how pitiful he looked, his weakness only magnified by the reflective red-tinted plastic. The Boss was dressed a flamboyantly as usual; even with his grinning face so painfully close, Sanji could see the striped pants and that awful pink feathered coat.

"What did you say to me?" asked the Boss, tightening his grip on Sanji's hair.

Sanji winced, but maintained eye contact—or what he thought must be eye contact. It was nearly impossible to tell with those damned sunglasses.

"I said…" Sanji took a rattling breath, letting out the next sentence in one quick exhale. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh, but you did," the Boss was quick to retort. "You conspired against me, Mister Black. You and one of your guests."

Sanji froze, staring wide-eyed into the red sunglasses like a deer into headlights. Guests? Didn't he know who had been helping him? Was that why he hadn't had any visitors? Hope sparked anew, giving him courage. Was there a chance that Marimo hadn't been behind the fire that had claimed the Baratie? Sanji had only seen him do it in a dream; perhaps stress had contributed to his nightmare, showing him things that weren't true. But then, if They didn't know who had been helping him, maybe They also didn't know about the hidden clothes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," lied Sanji, his voice coming out a bit smaller and shakier than he would have liked.

A frown twitched at the corners of the Boss's sneering mouth. "I think you do, Mister Black. And you're going to tell me who was helping you."

Sanji began to shake his head, only to stop when he felt one of Them rip the blanket away from his shoulders. Rough hands grabbed at his arms and forced them behind his back, holding them in place as he knelt shivering before the Boss. He could hear the jingling and rattling of equipment behind him as more of Them pulled the objects of his nightmares from the formerly locked closet. The hand in his hair relinquished its grip, and Sanji had to fight the urge to use his new freedom of movement to look over his shoulder.

"Now, Mister Black," said the Boss, catching Sanji's chin with long fingers before he could give in to the temptation and look to see what They had pulled from the closet. "You're going to tell me exactly who has been helping you."


	5. Chapter 5

There was a storm brewing outside. The wind howled viciously as it whirled around the buildings, seemingly blowing from all directions as it beat and rattled against the double-paned window of Sanji's room. Every few minutes, an especially strong gust would throw ice and snow at the side of the building, sounding like a barrage of miniature bullets as it struck the thick glass. The mixed precipitation was falling with greater and greater speed. Not more than an hour before, Sanji had been able to clearly see the high-risers across the street. Now, between the blinding torrents of snow and the thick layer of ice that coated the window, Sanji couldn't see anything but his room. The storm had descended upon the city at dusk, transforming his only portal out into the world into nothing more than a black sheet. Rather than an escape, it was yet another mirror, reflecting, magnifying, and reminding him of the whole new depths to which he had fallen.

A particularly powerful burst of wind and ice pounded against his window, sending shivers down Sanji's spine. Closing his eyes, he turned his head away from the window and buried his face in the knees drawn up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs, threading his fingers through tangled hair as the cold violently shook his body. There were no sheets, blankets, or pillows on his bed; they had all been removed as further punishment. Sanji had been making do with the bare mattress for the last week, the faded fabric accumulating fresh stains just as he received fresh cuts and bruises. Even now, Sanji could feel the hard mattress growing moist beneath him as blood and other fluids seeped from his backside and the multitude of injuries he had just been given.

Sanji sniffed and felt a small bubble of mucus or blood or whatever burst, causing new moisture to drip from his nose. He automatically wiped at it with the back of his hand, cringing as he accidentally put pressure on the deep cut on the left corner of his upper lip. Sniffing again, he returned to his sort of upright fetal position, trying not to think about the new layer of red that stained his bruised skin.

His entire body hurt. In the two weeks that had passed since the Baratie had burned, They had come in day and night to interrogate him in various ways. Much of the time, Their questioning took the form of brutal beatings. Aside from his busted lip and sluggishly bleeding nose, Sanji also counted a torn scalp, blackened left eye, and a multitude of long painful lacerations on his arms, legs, and torso among his injuries. The middle finger on his right hand was stiff and swollen. He hoped that it wasn't broken, but the extensive bruising suggested otherwise. And, if the sharp stabs of pain that accompanied every breath were any indication, he had some fractured ribs as well.

Sanji's external injuries were ugly, brutal, and extremely painful, but he knew that with time they would heal without a single scar to mark their passing. He was a commodity—a valuable one, judging by the way the Boss talked—and it wouldn't do to irreparably mar his flesh. In the end, it was the invisible wounds that hurt the most.

The Boss used more means than just violence to try to pry an answer from Sanji's lips. For every hour that They spent trying to beat information from his body, easily another two were used for a decidedly different form of interrogation. One that left scars that would never heal.

They had raped him.

Over and over, every single day, multiple times per day and between his beatings. They had come into his room in two's and three's and five's and more and cruelly used his body to Their every whim. Sanji's back ached and his insides burned. No matter what he tried—drinking handful after handful of water from the sink, biting his lip hard enough to bleed, even vomiting—he couldn't rinse the taste of Their flesh and Their seed from his mouth.

Sanji felt disgusting. He was disgusting. Who would want him now? It was better that all chances of his escape had been taken away. Sanji couldn't bear the thought of his family and friends seeing the awful, pathetic creature he had become. He was no longer worth their energy or concern. Not that it mattered. He no longer had a family anyway.

Sanji sniffed and gulped, choking down thick congealed blood. There were tears burning at the backs of his eyes. It was amazing. Every time he thought he had cried himself dry, his body would somehow produce the necessary liquid for more. He remembered the Boss's laughter following one particularly pathetic outburst and shuddered, the poorly trapped tears working their way free from behind his eyelids. He had been trying so hard to forget what he had learned only hours earlier…that Marimo really had betrayed him.

The Boss had come to personally question him earlier that afternoon. He had bound Sanji using a thin, rough string that immediately wore away the top layers of skin. Then he had drugged him with something new, something strong. The Boss said that one of his scientists had concocted it; he had called it "Candy." Whatever was in the Candy was potent. It had only just dissolved on his tongue when Sanji felt it take effect.

He had suddenly felt both hot and cold all at once, most of the blood in his body immediately rushing south to gather en masse below the belt line. The lack of blood flow anywhere else left him light-headed and his extremities cold and numb. He had shivered violently as an erection the likes of which he had never experienced blossomed beneath the Boss's dexterous fingers. The Boss had grinned widely at him; coating his fingers with Sanji's precum and forcing them into his mouth, making him taste his own arousal. Sanji had nearly choked on the long digits, tears streaming down his cheeks not just from the combined pain and pleasure or the humiliation, but because he tasted exactly the same as They did. All of a sudden, he realized that he was just as disgusting as They were, just as foul. Only, Sanji decided in that moment, he was worse. Because not only was he just as dirty as Them, but also weak, helpless, and wretched. Sanji hated himself more than he had ever thought possible.

The Boss had let Sanji suck and choke on his fingers for several minutes, watching him carefully from behind those red-tinted sunglasses as true despair washed over his captive. Sanji saw himself hit bottom, his image reflected in the brightly colored plastic. Just as he felt completely shattered, the Boss removed his fingers from his mouth, trailing white-tinged saliva as he did, and gripped Sanji's chin.

"You still haven't told me who's been helping you plot against me," the Boss sneered. "I admit, I was quite impressed by your resolve before, but now it's growing old."

Sanji pressed his lips together, tears rolling silently down his cheeks as he fought to remain silent. For whatever reason, he still couldn't bring himself to break Marimo's trust.

The Boss's grin faltered slightly at Sanji's silence, but quickly returned as he leaned in close. "I suppose that we'll have to properly test this Candy then, won't we?"

The briefest moment of panic flashed through Sanji's mind before the Boss let go of his chin to reach between his legs. Sanji remembered struggling against his bonds as he watched the action, the rough string cutting deeply into his skin. But there was no way for him to escape. His arms were tightly bound behind him, the string circling his wrists, forearms, and elbows, and then wrapping around his abdomen. No matter the amount of pulling and straining, the trapped appendages wouldn't budge. Nor would his legs.

The Boss loved his string. He loved to use it to contort Sanji's body, bending it in ways that caused even his hyper-flexible limbs and joints to protest. This time was no different. The Boss had tied the scratchy string around Sanji's shins and ankles, and then around his thighs. It was extremely uncomfortable, even before he had become aroused, and his feet had soon begun to tingle from lack of proper blood flow.

When the Boss reached down between his bound legs, Sanji was powerless to stop him. He had moaned bitterly as the other man's fingers penetrated him, playing with and sliding into his entrance, still bleeding from the last time They had visited him. The amount of abuse that Sanji had endured there had left him hypersensitive and he nearly climaxed just from the feeling of the Boss's fingers inside of him.

"What's this?" asked the Boss with a disapproving cluck of his tongue. He wrapped his free hand around the base of Sanji's cock and squeezed viciously, drawing a whimper from him as his ejaculation was blocked. "I think you're enjoying this a little too much, Mister Black. If this is all it takes to make you come, we'll have to take proper precautions."

Sanji tearfully shook his head from side to side, silently begging his tormentor not to do was he knew was coming. The Boss raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses.

"If you want me to stop, just tell me what I want to know." He gave Sanji's throbbing length a slight squeeze. "Will you tell me?"

Sanji shook his head again.

"Very well."

His heart sank the moment that he felt the string wind around his erection, pressure immediately building up behind it. Then the Boss's hands returned to their former positions, the fingers of one exploring Sanji's insides while the others tormented his bound cock.

Sanji's entire body shook under the Boss's ministrations. He could feel more and more pressure building. The heat and the relentless itch were unbearable. Then he felt the Boss curl his fingers inside him, easily finding the spot that made stars burst in front of Sanji's eyes and his back arch off of the mattress. He moaned and shuddered, numb hands balling into fists behind his back.

"Please…" begged Sanji. "Please, stop."

"Tell me who has been working against me," grinned the Boss.

Sanji shook his head. The fingers inside him crooked again, pulling a faint cry from Sanji as yet another blocked orgasm rolled through his body.

"Just give me a name," the Boss cooed.

Sanji bit his lip hard enough to split the abused skin.

"No? Very well then."

The Boss found the spot again, pressing and rubbing against it in a way that sent electric jolts of painful pleasure running through Sanji's body. He moaned and whimpered, squirming around the Boss's fingers and struggling against his bonds. The two weeks of torture he had endured were wearing heavily on him. Sanji's body had become too sensitive, too weak, and too compliant. He was moments away from breaking, but knew he could never forgive himself for betraying his only current friend. He'd lost Zeff; he couldn't lose Marimo too.

"You're still holding out, after all of this?" teased the Boss. "I'm impressed."

He hit Sanji's prostate again, but this time he combined the action with pressing the tip of his index finger against Sanji's leaking head. Sanji gasped and bucked beneath him, the pressure on his two most sensitive areas too much to bear.

"St-Stop!" he cried, shame and arousal burning at his cheeks.

"Tell me what I want to know," repeated the Boss.

Sanji vehemently shook his head again and felt the fingers on both hands burrow more deeply into him.

"Tell me."

The pressure was excruciating. Sanji could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the sound all but drowned out by the ringing that had overtaken his hearing. Arousal ran rampant through his body, mingling with the pain of his previous injuries to create a cocktail that ate away at his last reserves of resilience like an acid.

"Mister Black," goaded the Boss.

Sanji felt the edges of the Boss's fingernail break the enflamed skin around his slit, blood mixing with precum as it dripped from the swollen, reddened head. It was too much. Sanji could take no more.

"M-Mar…"

The Boss paused in his painful stimulation, cocking his head slightly as he listened to Sanji's stuttered utterance.

"What was that, Mister Black? Please speak up."

More tears spilled over Sanji's flushed skin, self-loathing finding a home with all of his other embittered, despairing emotions.

"It was M-Mari—the Swordsman," he finally confessed.

The Boss sat back and studied him, a scowl creasing his features. "You're lying."

Sanji shook his head, shivering around the fingers that remained inside him.

"You are lying, Mister Black. Do you know how I know?"

Sanji craned his neck in an attempt to look the Boss in the eye, furrowing his brow in confusion. The Boss scowled at him and then finally removed his fingers, wiping them on the inside of Sanji's thigh. Getting up, he moved around to the side of the bed and grabbed a hold of Sanji, pulling him upright until he sat leaning against the headboard.

"I know because your precious Swordsman has already proven his loyalty to me," sneered the Boss, leaning in close.

Sanji began to shake his head, desperate for the Boss to believe him and end his torment, only to be stopped by a firm grip on his chin.

"Just who do you think it was that killed your father, Mister Black?" asked the Boss.

Sanji stared at him in a mixture of shock and horror. He had just convinced himself that his worst suspicions weren't true. It couldn't be—

"I have to admit," laughed the Boss, "when I assigned him to off the old bastard, I honestly didn't expect him to burn the whole damn place down." He grinned maliciously. "Though I do so appreciate the dramatic touch."

"No." Sanji gave his head a small shake. "No, it can't be. You're lying."

"When have I ever lied to you?" asked the Boss in mocking tone. "Do you need proof?"

Sanji nodded.

"Your old man wore a prosthetic leg below the knee, didn't he?"

Again, Sanji nodded. The Boss chuckled.

"It's currently sitting in my office."

Sanji's eyes widened and his heart seemed to fail. "No. No, it can't—"

"It can't…what?" mocked the Boss. "It can't be true? Shall I show you?"

Before Sanji could muster the strength to answer, the Boss pulled an expensive looking phone from his pocket. After a moment of searching, he turned it around and held it out so Sanji could see the screen. Sure enough, there was Zeff's leg, laid out on what appeared to be the Boss's desk. Even burned and blackened as it was, Sanji could recognize the old prosthetic limb anywhere, having received and dodged countless kicks from it growing up. He gulped and closed his eyes, the confirmation of his worst nightmares made real numbing his senses. It really was over.

"So, then," said the Boss, putting away his phone. "Who is it that has actually been helping you? No lies this time, Mister Black."

"But it really was him," Sanji replied meekly. He hated himself. He hated how small and shaky his voice sounded. He hated the tears that ran over his cheeks and down the back of his throat. And, most of all, he hated that he had become such a coward. "It really was—"

The back of the Boss's hand cut him off midsentence. It hit him hard, the ring that adorned one of his fingers connecting with Sanji's upper lip and tearing it open. The blow stung from his already bruised cheek all the way down the side of his neck; the painful sensation easily carried by the Candy in his system down to his still bound erection.

Sanji's head knocked against the headboard from the force of the hit, making his right ear ring. A wave of dizziness hit him as soon as he righted himself and he had to bend over to stop the room from spinning. He choked down a sob and took the deepest breaths his cracked ribs could manage, fresh tears and blood dripping from his face to the stained mattress between his bound legs.

"I don't appreciate being lied to, Mister Black," said the Boss, irritation slowing his words to a dangerous pace. "Now, who was it?"

Sanji's mind raced. The Boss wanted an answer and the truth didn't seem to be good enough. How could he make him understand that it had been Marimo? Sanji didn't owe the man anything anymore, not since learning that he really had been the one to kill Zeff and burn down the Baratie. The Boss was so assured of Marimo's loyalty; Sanji didn't think he could convince him otherwise. Hell, he was beginning to doubt his own memories. Maybe Marimo's gentle touches had only been his imagination. He had been so desperate for comfort. It was entirely possible that he had made the encounters up and blocked out the real events. Either way, he had to tell the Boss something, and it had to be a name he would believe. Sanji didn't think he could survive another minute—let alone another day—of this torture. He wracked his brain for a name until one finally stood out in his mind.

"Crocodile." He barely whispered it as the thought occurred to him, but had apparently been loud enough for the Boss to hear. Long fingers tangled in Sanji's hair, pulling his head upright until he found himself staring into red-tinted plastic.

"What did you say?" growled the Boss.

Sanji nervously licked his lips, tasting the salt and tang of his own tears and blood. "It was…It was Crocodile."

The Boss hissed angrily through his teeth. He was buying it.

Emboldened, Sanji continued, "He…wanted me to himself. He said that if you wouldn't sell me, he would just have to steal me."

The hand gripping his hair relaxed and then let go as the Boss sat back on the bed, frowning as he studied Sanji from behind his sunglasses. Sanji retained what he thought might be eye contact for a moment and then dropped his head in a mixture of real and fake submission.

"I'm sorry I betrayed you, Boss," Sanji mumbled, hoping against hope that his act had worked.

The Boss was silent for a moment longer, and then reached out to grasp at Sanji's chin.

"Do you see how easy that was?" he asked, brushing the hair from Sanji's face to reveal more bleeding and blackened skin that had been hidden beneath the fringe. He ran the pad of his thumb over a deep cut on his right cheek in a way the made Sanji flinch. "Now, just imagine all of the suffering we could have been spared if you had just told me from the beginning."

He reached down and grabbed a hold of Sanji's thighs, pulling him away from the headboard until he was once again lying on the mattress. Then he sat back and began to unbuckle his belt.

"You know that all of this hurt me more than it hurt you."

Sanji swallowed thickly as he felt the string binding his legs loosened and pulled away. He began to shiver violently when the Boss hooked his hands under his knees and dragged him closer. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. His torment should have been over. The Boss sneered at him.

"Now all that remains, Mister Black," he said as he aligned himself with Sanji's aching entrance, "is to reward you for your truthfulness."—

…

Sanji gave his head a violent shake, banishing the memory of his afternoon with the Boss. He was already horribly nauseated; thinking about his "reward" would only make it worse. They had barely given him any food in the last two weeks, using hunger as yet another weapon against him. He needed to keep what little food was inside him down.

At the very least, Sanji supposed, his torment should be over. He hated himself for breaking, but if he was going to live out his days as Their captive, then he wanted to keep the beatings to a minimum. He laughed bitterly to himself.

"No wonder Marimo betrayed you, you worthless shitty fuck," Sanji chastised himself. "Who the hell would want you?"

Just at that moment, the wind picked up, howling with the intensity of a caged animal as it threw more snow and ice against the double-paned window. A harsh shiver ran up Sanji's aching spine and he suddenly found himself missing Marimo's warm embrace and the clothes still hidden in the mattress beneath him. He suppressed the urge to laugh at himself again. Even after all of the pain and humiliation and betrayal, he was still longing for something that was decidedly out of reach. Sanji didn't understand why he continued to hope. There was no point.

"Just give up already, idiot," he mumbled.

More tears worked their way free from his eyes; Sanji did nothing to stop them. He didn't think it was possible for him to sink any lower than he felt now. What more could They possibly take from him? Even the things that Marimo had given him had been stripped away, all of his forward strides negated by Their cruelty. He had nothing left to live for; no hope, no pride, no family or home or friends. Sanji belatedly began to wonder if he could use the drawstring in the sweatpants hidden within the mattress as an improvised noose. That would certainly put a damper on the Boss's day. He could only imagine how furious the man would be when They found his body. It was almost the perfect plan. All at once, he could end his own suffering and exact the only revenge possible against the Boss. The only downside was that he would never get to visit his old man's grave. Sanji shrugged. He could see Zeff in the afterlife. They could cook for real angels. Though Sanji wasn't quite sure if he was fit for Heaven, sullied as he was.

He thought it over carefully, slightly shocked by how easily and calmly he could plot his own death. Was there anything he was missing? Any unforeseen consequences? Sanji allowed himself a sarcastic huff. Any unforeseen consequences other than dying?

He pictured Marimo and felt combined rage and sadness swell within. The other man's betrayal stung. Sanji wished that he could have had the opportunity to confront the treacherous mossy bastard. He wanted to ask him why. Why had he been so gentle? Why had he raised his hopes so high? Most of all, why him? Sanji wanted to know what had made Marimo choose him when he could have just as easily walked away that first night. Why had he stayed? And why had he made a promise that he clearly didn't intend to keep? Tears struck Sanji's knees and rolled down his thighs, stinging the abrasions left by the Boss's string as they went. Why had Marimo killed Zeff? Why did he have to go so far?

Sanji had so many questions that would go unanswered, but he could think of no other avenue for escape. He couldn't live like this anymore. He wouldn't. He refused to. He—

Something hit the door to his room hard enough to make it rattle in its frame. Sanji snapped his head up and stared at the expanse of wood in confusion. It had sounded as if someone was trying to break down the door. Whatever it was struck the door again, this time with more force. The harsh sound made Sanji jump, his muscles tensing as he tried to figure out what the hell was happening. Were They back to hurt him some more? But it wasn't fair. He had given the Boss his answer.

The thing hit the door a third time, making the wood around the hinges split and crack. Sanji furrowed his brow, gripping the bruised skin on his knees tightly. Just what were They up to?

He heard hushed arguing filter through the wood, one of the voices sounding both harried and irritated. The other voice quipped something barely audible in response that silenced the first. Then Sanji heard something that sounded very close to "No! Wait!" before the thing hit the door again, ripping the hinges from the frame as a body careened inside.

Sanji watched with wide eyes as a man that he had never seen before practically flew into his room. His momentum carried him faster than his feet could control, only stopping when he struck the coffee table, destroying it on impact. The intruder lay in a heap amongst the shattered wood for a moment, laughing quietly to himself until he seemed to come to his senses and sat up.

The first thing that Sanji noticed was how young the man looked. He couldn't have been much older than he was, but there was a certain air about him that made him look like a kid. Maybe it was the tangle of dark unruly hair or the brightly colored clothes. Or maybe it was because he was grinning like an idiot.

"Did you have to do that?" whined a panicky voice from the doorway, immediately drawing Sanji's attention. Another man stepped through the splintered wood, all of his face except for an exceptionally long nose hidden behind a brightly colored mask. "I told you I could pick the lock. Half the building probably knows we're here by now!"

The man on the floor laughed, the sound coming out in an odd sort of "shishishi".

"It just seemed like more fun," he explained innocently, the wide grin never leaving his face.

The masked man's shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're going to get me killed someday, I just know it."

"Whoever comes, I can take 'em!" grinned the dark-haired man, confidently pounding his fist into his palm for emphasis. "I'll protect you, so don't worry about it, Uso—"

The masked man practically tripped over himself trying to get to his carefree friend, crashing into and toppling him over as he clamped a shaking hand over his mouth.

"Don't use my name!" hissed the longnose. "We agreed! Only codenames!"

The more enthusiastic one's eyes grew wide, a muffled "ooh" escaping from between his comrade's fingers. He nodded into his friend's hand and then finally seemed to notice Sanji. Blue eyes met brown as they silently regarded each other. Sanji shifted uncomfortably on the bed, ashamed of his condition and nakedness under the oddly perceptive gaze.

"Are you Sanji?" asked the masked man, snapping Sanji from his trance.

Sanji turned his attention to the other man, protectively hugging his knees closer to his body. "Who wants to know?"

The younger man removed the hand that had still been over his mouth and grinned widely. "My name is Luffy! And this is Uso—" His friend slapped the back of his head. "Sogeking."

The longnose, er, Sogeking dropped his head in defeat and sighed heavily. "You're not supposed to tell people your name either, moron."

Luffy laughed amiably, scratching the back of his head nervously. "Whoops, I forgot. My mistake."

Sanji and Sogeking both gave Luffy deadpan looks. The kid was acting as if he had simply bought the wrong brand of milk or forgotten to tie his shoes, rather than having potentially revealed his identity to an enemy in a dangerous situation.

"Well, you shouldn't call me by name then," Luffy said, turning back to Sanji with a toothy grin. "So, call me 'Captain', okay?"

Sanji's heart fluttered oddly against his broken ribs. Captain? As in…?

"So, are you Sanji?" repeated Luffy, his tone shifting completely from lighthearted to serious.

Sanji swallowed thickly and nodded.

In the blink of an eye, Luffy's attitude lightened once again, his wide and completely genuine smile reappearing. "Well, we're here to save you."

Making a small victorious sound, Luffy nimbly climbed to his feet and brushed himself off while Sogeking more clumsily clamored upright behind him. Sanji watched them quietly, his mind racing as he struggled to comprehend what he had just heard. Was this really happening? After all this time and everything They had done, was he really going to be free? What if this was another trick? After all, Marimo was a traitor, and if these were his friends…but there was something about Luffy that made Sanji want to trust him. The odd man before him didn't seem capable of deceit. Maybe Marimo had betrayed them as well. Or—Sanji's breath caught in his lungs—Marimo had been forced or had tricked Them. If he escaped, he could ask him, himself.

Movement in his peripheral vision as Sogeking edged around the side of the bed snapped Sanji from his thoughts. He opened his mouth to ask what he was doing until he felt Luffy standing just a little too close. Sanji twitched violently away, his body automatically reacting to the threat of human contact.

Luffy frowned at him. "You look terrible."

"You're no catch either, but you don't see me commenting on it," Sanjji sniped back without thinking. However as soon as the words left his mouth he recoiled, afraid of the consequences he was certain he would suffer.

Luffy blinked at him a couple of times as the words sank in. Sanji was just beginning to think that he had really insulted his would-be rescuer, the possibility of being left behind flashing through his mind. Then Luffy's face split in a wide grin and he began to laugh loudly, rocking back on his heels from the invisible force of the light-hearted sound. Sanji's mouth dropped open as he watched tears of mirth roll down Luffy's cheeks. The laughter was almost contagious. It had been so long since he had heard a real laugh, one that wasn't filled with malice or accompanied by hurt, that Luffy's laugh sounded foreign. It worked its way into cracked foundations of Sanji's psyche and rejuvenated the hope that he had thought stomped out.

"Will you be quiet?!" hissed Sogeking, who unbeknownst to Sanji was halfway under his bed. He pawed around beneath the mattress, his tongue visibly sticking out of the side of his mouth beneath the mask. "Honestly Captain, do you want everyone in the building to know we're here? Now, where is it? I'm sure he said it was near the foot end…"

"They're by the window," Sanji said, the words once again coming out before he could stop them. What was it about these two that made him feel so at ease? It was almost like the first night he had spent with Marimo. "The…clothes, that is. They're in the box spring by the window."

Sogeking nodded and mumbled a "thank you" as he shuffled around to the correct location. He quickly found the hole and the bundle of clothes within, and pulled them out. Sanji stared at his clothes with a mixture of trepidation and longing. It was all suddenly becoming so real. Sanji could feel himself getting excited again; the renewed hope warming him from within. He tried and failed to rein the feeling in. If this didn't work or if it was another trick, Sanji didn't think that he would survive the crushing disappointment— or the punishment, for that matter.

"Here," said Sogeking, holding out the clothes and giving them a slightly impatient shake. "We better hurry. We're lucky no one's caught us yet."

Sanji was unable to still the nervous and excited tremor that shook his hands as he took the clothes, running his hands over the fleece as if he was feeling its softness for the first time. He had nearly convinced himself that the clothes had been imagined. After all, how could something that brought so much comfort exist in such close proximity to pain?

He felt the mattress sink as Sogeking made to climb over it, and almost dropped the pile of clothing when he startled away from the masked man. If Sogeking noticed the overblown response, he ignored it, climbing off the other side of the bed and walking over the stand nervously by the door.

"Come on, Sanji," he whispered. "We don't have all night!"

Sanji nodded dumbly and finally withdrew his knees from his chest. He heard a small gasp escape from beneath Sogeking's mask when he swung his legs over the side of the bed, revealing the full scope of his injuries to his rescuers for the first time. A blush crept onto Sanji's cheeks as he realized how pathetic he must look with his bruised and broken skin on full display. At least Luffy didn't seem to care. The so-called Captain was busy examining the silent television, pressing its nonfunctioning buttons and grumbling when he didn't receive a response.

Sanji allowed himself a deep steadying breath and pulled over the sweatpants, wincing slightly as the action of stepping into the leg holes flexed sore muscles. He paused a moment when he pulled them up to ensure that the waistband laid in such a way that the drawstring wouldn't put too much pressure on the finger-shaped bruises on his hips, and then moved on. He only encountered minor difficulties with the t-shirt, his ribs protesting against the exaggerated movement required to pull the shirt over his head. Sanji bit the inside of his cheek to avoid repeating the pained gasp he had made when putting on the t-shirt as he threaded his arms through the sweatshirt. The blush already staining his cheeks crept back to his ears as he situated the sweater over his shoulders. The blue fleece still smelled a little like Marimo.

The clothes felt heavy and huge hanging from Sanji's starved frame. He felt slightly ridiculous, but at the same time, the soft fabric hugged his body in a way that made his injuries hurt less and his tense shivering muscles relax. Sanji decided in that moment that he never wanted to be naked ever again.

"So, we're ready to go then?" asked Luffy, effectively snapping Sanji from his clothing-induced trance.

"I think so," said Sogeking hesitantly. He peered around the part of the door that had survived Luffy's collision thanks to the heavy bolts locking it to the frame. "I'm just surprised that we haven't been discovered yet."

"Don't worry about it! We can take them!" Luffy grinned confidently as he made his way to the half open doorway. He pulled a worn red baseball cap that, oddly, had a straw bill from his back pocket and crammed it on his head. "Let's go then!"

"Um…guys?" Sanji shifted uncomfortably next to the bed as both of his rescuers turned toward him. "Did either of you bring an extra pair of shoes?"

As if to emphasize his point, the wind suddenly picked up, throwing more ice against the window. An involuntary shiver ran down Sanji's spine. He would do it if he had to—anything to be free—but he really didn't want to go out into a blizzard barefooted.

"Oh! That's right!" said Sogeking with a snap of his fingers. "I can't believe I almost forgot!"

Turning slightly, Sogeking reached into a yellow messenger bag that Sanji had somehow failed to notice before. He rifled around inside of it for a few moments, the mystery contents of the bulging bag rattling around until he finally found what he had been looking for. With a small "aha!" he pulled out a pair of canvas slip-on shoes and handed them to Sanji.

"Sorry that they aren't very warm," he apologized as Sanji pulled a pair of balled up socks from inside one of the shoes. "We really wanted to do this sooner, before the storm moved in."

Sanji made a noncommittal noise, throwing all of his concentration into pulling on the socks despite the twinges of pain shooting up his back and not on thinking about what could have been if he had been rescued earlier. When he slipped his feet into the shoes, he was pleasantly surprised to find that they fit fairly well. The canvas was a little snug (probably because of the socks), but he would be able to run in them if the situation called for it. He wiggled his toes inside them, testing the flexibility of the soles. He might even be able to fight in them, if his injuries would allow him to.

"Okay, then!" exclaimed Luffy, readjusting his hat so it sat more securely on his head. "Let's go!"

Sanji watched, his heartbeat pounding like a drum in his ears, as first Luffy and then Sogeking slipped through the door. How many hours had he dreamt, no, longed to leave his prison? And now, here he was, staring at a partially open door. If They caught him, he would surely be killed. Or—a chill ran through him as he thought of it—the punishment would be worse than death. If he stayed, he might be given some minor freedoms and luxuries. The Boss might decrease the number of his guests, feed him more, or give him clothes to wear. After all, Sanji had no family or home to return to, and for all he knew, Marimo was a traitor who would kill him or turn him back in if he ever saw him again. Sanji's hands balled into fists at his sides, pain shooting through his broken finger as he did so. Even for all of his doubt, his decision wasn't a hard one to make.

As Sanji walked past the shattered door, out of his room and steps closer to his freedom, he didn't bother to look back. Not once.


	6. Chapter 6

As it turned out, the hallway wasn't terribly different from Sanji's room. The same worn carpet covered the floor, only it was even more threadbare due to repeated use. The walls were painted with identical yellowing beige; and when he looked down the hall, Sanji could see door after door that was just like his. He let go the breath that he had been holding as he took his first steps out of his room, the air rushing out of his lungs as if he had been struck in the chest. His room had been at the end of the hall and from his new vantage point his path to freedom looked endlessly long.

He saw Sogeking glance back at him in what he thought might be concern-it was impossible to tell with the mask. Farther along, Luffy was single-mindedly pressing onward, his blind drive steeling Sanji's frayed nerves. With one shaking step after another, Sanji made his way down the hall. By some small miracle, they hadn't been caught yet and with every second that passed Sanji felt a little more courage return to him. The tense muscles in his back and shoulders relaxed, some of his nervous shivering easing with them. He slowly unballed his fists, wincing as he felt his broken finger creak under the strain.

As they went, Sanji couldn't help but to notice the size of the building. They had been walking for a few solid minutes (or at least it had felt that long) with no change in direction and no break in the pattern of doors in the walls. The three of them passed faded white door after faded white door, each one locked from the outside with heavy bolts exactly like the ones that had kept Sanji confined. Sanji began to feel sick. How many rooms were on this floor? Twenty? Thirty? Fifty? Were there more floors like this? Was every room occupied? How many people did that make? How many had fallen asleep safe in their own beds, secure within their lives just as he had been, only to awake in their own personal hell the next morning? When he was free, how many women and men would have to continue to endure this place? How many of them wouldn't survive it?

A shudder ran up and down Sanji's spine. What would have happened if They had chosen someone else for Marimo? Would Luffy and Sogeking still be sneaking through the halls with a would-be escapee while he sat curled, shivering, and oblivious on his bed? Would Marimo have risked all of this for anyone else? If none of this had happened, he almost certainly wouldn't have provoked the beatings he had received over the last two weeks, nor would the Boss have felt the need to teach him a lesson. Sanji furrowed his brow, his racing thoughts quickly taking him into territory that he didn't want to go. He tried everything he could think of to stop the question from forming, but failed miserably at every single one.

If he hadn't met Marimo, would Zeff still be alive?

Sanji had to gulp down another wave of nausea. He was being so selfish. He had wanted freedom so badly, had longed for it with every fiber of his being, but at what cost? It had never occurred to Sanji in all of his lonely hours of daydreaming that Zeff's life would be the cost of his freedom. And not just his old man's life, but his dream as well. Sanji couldn't help but to think that it wasn't worth it. Even if he had been living in hell, at least both of them had been alive. Had he known that his only family would pay the price, Sanji would have turned Marimo down. Or, at least, he hoped that he would have. The Boss's voice echoed in his head, taunting and teasing Sanji for the irreparable pain he had caused everyone he held dear. Sanji felt worthless and disgusting. How would he ever be able to make up for all that had been lost on his behalf? How could he repay all of the sacrifices that had been made?

After what felt like an eternity, the hallway opened up into a small lobby. As with the rest of the building, the lobby was sparsely decorated with cheap, outdated furniture. There was a faded, knock-off painting in a gilded plastic frame centered on the two side walls and a potted fake tree in each corner. Even from a distance, Sanji could see the dust collected on the silk leaves. Two elevators were set in the far wall with a small faux wood table adorned with a vase of more dusty silk flowers between them. And in the back corner farthest from them was the door to the emergency stairs. The door didn't appear to be locked, but it did have a bright red emergency bar. If they opened it, they would no doubt trigger an alarm.

The three of them stood and stared at the setup in silence, each of them mulling over the options. They would be trapped if they got caught in the elevators, but setting off a fire alarm would bring the entirety of Their security down on their heads. Plus, they might find themselves equally trapped on the stairwell with no protection.

"Right," Luffy said with finality, making his way to the elevators and pressing the worn plastic "down" button between the metal doors.

"What're you doing?!" asked Sogeking in a harried whisper. "We can't take the elevator! We'll be sitting ducks!"

Luffy turned to him and shrugged, a look of innocence on his face. "That's how we got up here and we didn't have any problems then."

Sogeking stepped closer to his friend, his mouth opening for further argument when Sanji decided to add his input.

"He's right, the elevators would be better."

Luffy grinned widely while Sogeking's jaw dropped behind his mask.

"We'll probably run into trouble either way," Sanji explained, silently impressed with himself for keeping a level voice. "If we take the stairs, we'll set off the alarm and have all of Their security chasing us. On the stairs, They can trap us from both above and below. We would have no shelter and nowhere to hide. At least on the elevator we can close the doors...and it'll limit the number of Them that can attack us at once."

Sogeking's shoulders slumped in defeat and Luffy's smile widened beyond what should have been humanly possible.

"You're really smart, Sanji!" Luffy laughed. "No wonder Zoro likes you so much!"

Sanji frowned. Who? Was he referring to Marimo? Was that his real name? Or could that be Doctor Heartstealer? Luffy had said it so quickly and seemed to be so free with names that it was difficult to surmise who it belonged to.

Before he could form a coherent enough thought to inquire, one of the elevators pinged and the doors slid open. A wave of tension rippled through the lobby, and Sanji subconsciously took half a step back as they peered cautiously inside. All three of them let out a collective sigh of relief. It was empty.

Luffy was the first to enter the car, a slight spring to his step and a small smile still on his face as he explored the confined space. Much to Sanji's surprise, he was the next to step forward while Sogeking continued to hover nervously by the doors.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Sogeking, his knees visibly shaking. He looked nervously from Luffy to Sanji and back again. "If we get caught-"

"We'll beat the crap out of them," Luffy finished for him, his voice brimming with confidence.

Sogeking looked to Sanji again, who only shrugged, trying his best to hide his growing impatience. Sogeking's apprehension was understandable, but every second that they delayed increased their chances of getting caught. Sanji's feet itched to give the other man a swift kick in the butt, but he held himself back. These two had already risked their lives to sneak into the building; it would be ungrateful for him to lose his temper. Months of conditioning had taught him to act with caution. He didn't want to be left behind.

Finally, Luffy seemed to have grown tired of his friend's hesitation. With a movement so quick that Sanji barely caught it, he reached out and pulled Sogeking into the elevator, letting the doors close behind him with a dull thunk. With a heavy sigh, Sogeking seemed to resign himself to his fate and, after a small squabble with Luffy that involved a bit of very mature pushing and shoving, stationed himself beside the elevator buttons.

Sanji couldn't help but to stare at the dimly lit panel in combined awe and dread. Including the main level of the building, there were one hundred floors plus a basement that doubled as a garage. Glancing up, he could see the old digital floor counter above the buttons and emergency call box. His heart sank. They were on the seventy-seventh floor. How the hell were they going to make it even half way down without getting caught?

With an exasperated sigh, Sogeking punched the button for the basement level. Sanji made no move to question him. It made sense; they would be more likely to be able to escape through the garage than through the lobby. Besides, he had more pressing matters to worry about, chiefest among them being stopping himself from shaking. As the elevator rattled to life and began to carry them downward, Sanji could feel excitement and nervousness building, his heart rate rising as the elevator picked up speed. He felt lightheaded and had to dig his fingernails into his palms to help himself concentrate as he watched the numbers tick down floor by floor.

Soon, gravity seemed to have been lifted within their little cubicle. Sanji had always forgotten how quickly elevators ran in these kinds of highrisers. It made him feel a little dizzy. Sanji found himself leaning heavily on the plastic coated wall, gripping the metal handrail for support.

They passed through the remainder of the seventies without incident, followed by the sixties. Somewhere between the fifty-ninth and fifty-seventh floors, Luffy came and stood beside him. The younger man's face was creased with concern as he studied him. His brow was furrowed beneath the straw bill of his baseball cap and his mouth was set in a deep frown that didn't fit him at all.

"Are you okay?" asked Luffy, keeping his voice low. He moved to put a hand on Sanji's shoulder, but stopped when he twitched away.

The movement caught Sogeking's attention and he half-turned from his vigil over the doors. Sanji fidgeted under the double scrutinizing gazes of his rescuers, gripping the handrail more tightly for support.

"I'm fine." Sanji gave them a small, lopsided smile. "It's just nerves."

"It doesn't look like just nerves," said Sogeking. "You're all pale like you're sick or something. You look like you're going to faint..." He grimaced and backed up a step. "...or puke."

Sanji gave him a blank look, at a loss for the right words to form a polite response. He supposed that he must look pretty terrible. He was well aware of his injuries; the bruises ached and stung every time he moved, and some of his open wounds were still weeping, uncomfortably dampening the fleece that covered them. On top of that, his back was starting to throb painfully and the ringing in his ears was making a comeback. The worst of it though was the pain in his empty stomach. It gnawed angrily at his insides. Sanji was almost certain that hunger was one of the main contributing factors to how ill he currently felt. He had never been fond of these fast moving elevators, but he couldn't remember ever being so strongly affected by one. But he was determined to push through. He had already endured months of this place and survived worse situations under Their care. He could handle one elevator ride.

Sanji tried to casually shrug off the comment, but only managed to half-heartedly move one shoulder up and down.

"I'm just really hungry," he explained, hoping that this half, no wait, quarter truth would satisfy Luffy and Sogeking's worrying. "I haven't eaten much in the last couple of weeks. It's making me a little dizzy, is all."

He saw Sogeking frown under his mask, clearly not buying his excuse. Luffy, however, grinned widely at him.

"Well then, as soon as we get out of here, we'll take you out to eat!" Luffy exclaimed, suddenly very excited and animated once again. "There's this really great restaurant near where we live. They make the best takoyaki in the city." Sanji thought he could see drool working at the corners of Luffy's mouth. Luffy laughed, his smile brightening the entire elevator car. "Probably in the entire world!"

The logical culinarily trained part of Sanji wanted to explain that takoyaki might be a little too heavy for his starved system to handle, but the offer sounded too good to refuse. He really missed trying other chefs' cooking. The competitive side of him couldn't wait to assess the new flavors and then try to replicate or even outdo them. Some of Sanji's nausea and lightheadedness began to pass as he thought about it. He had nearly forgotten how much comfort he found in cooking.

Unfortunately, any answer positive or negative that he may have given Luffy was caught in his throat when the elevator began to slow. All three of them glanced up at the digital floor display in unison, dread quickly settling over them. They had come to a stop on the forty-third floor.

Luffy looked at each of them in turn as they waited for the doors to slide open, his face set with a determined frown. "You guys ready?"

Sanji could only nod silently, the tension that had just begun unwinding from his body returning with greater vigor than before. Meanwhile, Sogeking edged away from the door, pressing himself into the corner by the control panel, effectively blocking him from view of anyone that might be waiting outside the metal doors. Sanji sucked in a breath and held it as the elevator chimed and the doors rattled open.

They were greeted by the sight of a lobby that was nearly identical to the one on Sanji's floor, save for a few minor but notable differences. The carpet in this one looked a little nicer, more up-to-date, and the wall appeared to have received a fresh coat of paint recently as they weren't nearly as stained or faded. The paintings on the walls were in higher quality frames and none of the lights flickered or buzzed. But all of these things barely registered in Sanji's mind as all of his immediate attention focused on the reason for the elevator stopping.

He had fully believed that when the doors opened, he would be confronted by the Boss's cruelly sneering face and a handful of his most brutal men. Instead, there was only one person waiting for the elevator; one woman.

The first thought that came to Sanji's mind was how utterly stunning she was. Long flowing black hair framed a healthy, youthful face. Well groomed eyebrows arched over intelligent brown eyes as she looked from one of them to the next, her full red-painted lips turning downward when her gaze finally settled on Sanji. She took a small step forward, shock still written across her delicate features as she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him.

"Y-You," she stammered, thoroughly pinning Sanji in place with her musical voice alone. "How did you—?"

She was cut off mid-question by a small cloud of something sprayed directly in the face. The rest of her words fell silently from her mouth as her face went slack and her eyes rolled back. On instinct, Sanji dashed forward and caught her just before she hit the floor, only struggling a little with her weight.

"What the hell?!" he snapped in an angry whisper, turning to glare at Sogeking as he put the can of whatever-it-was he had sprayed at the woman back into his yellow messenger bag. "What did you do that for?!"

"Well, I couldn't exactly let her start screaming," retorted Sogeking, turning to press the "door open" button. "I thought the whole point of taking these death traps was to avoid detection."

Sanji scowled at him. "That's still not any way to treat a lady."

"I couldn't just politely ask her to leave," said Sogeking, giving the "door open" button another jab as the doors tried to close. "Besides, it's only a mild sleeping gas. She'll be fine." He huffed and pressed the button again. "Now, come on! Leave her in the lobby and let's go!"

With one final venomous glare that made Sogeking recoil from him, Sanji picked up the unconscious woman bridal style—only staggering slightly as his injuries protested against the stress of lifting her weight—and carried her out of the elevator. He knew that Sogeking had probably intended for him to simply push her clear of the doors, but urgency be damned, he wasn't going to treat a lady that way. Using as much care as he could manage given his trembling legs and lingering lightheadedness, he knelt and gently deposited the woman in the corner beside one of the fake trees, resting her head against the plastic rim of the pot. He paused a moment to brush her hair from her face and to ensure that her dress hadn't ridden up; he didn't want to leave her indecently exposed, least of all in this place.

There was something so familiar about this woman, as though they had met before, but Sanji couldn't place when or where. He hadn't had her as a guest before, not unless she had visited him on one of his lost days. But that didn't seem right. Even if she was one of Them, she didn't look like the type that would inflict the kind of injuries that he always woke up with. Someone so beautiful couldn't be so depraved. Sanji's brain helpfully reminded him of Kalifa's cruelty, the blonde's face flashing through his mind, but he shook it off. No, he must have met her before his abduction, but where? Sanji was certain that he would have remembered such a beautiful face.

"Sanji! Hurry up!" hissed Sogeking from the elevator doors, effectively snapping Sanji from his thoughts.

Giving the woman one last once over to convince himself that she would be okay, Sanji climbed to his feet and rushed back to the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind him. He resumed leaning against the rail at the back of the car, gripping the metal tightly as the elevator rattled back to life to continue its descent.

"Did you know that lady?" asked Luffy after a beat of silence.

Sanji studied him for a moment, worried that his rescuers might suspect that he had potentially dangerous connections and leave him behind. But he found no suspicion in Luffy's expression, only curiosity. Sanji shook his head "no" and focused intensely on his white-knuckled grip on the handrail.

"She seemed to know you," said Sogeking from behind Luffy. Contrary to his friend, there was suspicion in the masked man's voice. "You sure you don't know her?"

"I'm sure," replied Sanji, scowling at the floor as he tried desperately to remember. "It's just that..."

He pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow. He just couldn't shake the woman's familiarity. Sanji was certain that he knew her from somewhere, but the memory continued to elude him.

"Just...what?" pressed Sogeking.

"I don't know," Sanji groaned. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, wincing as he irritated bruised skin. There was a headache beginning to blossom from the base of his skull, and it promised to be a bad one. "I feel like I've seen her before, but I just can't remember. It's all fuzzy, like it was a dream."

There was silence for a moment, the quiet only broken by the rattling of the elevator's hidden mechanisms. Sanji leaned heavily against the wall. His entire head was throbbing from the stress of trying to catch that one elusive memory. Every now and then, he would see flashing multicolored lights in a dark room packed with moving bodies or the woman's beautifully smiling face, and then it would be gone. His pulse pounded in his ears to the uptempo beat of some muted song, making his head hurt more. He wanted to remember—something told him that this woman was important—but every time he got close everything went fuzzy and black and then he was back in that bed, shivering and bound as he woke up in his prison for the first time.

Warm hands wrapped around his wrists, gently pulling his hands away from his face. Sanji blinked several times, his stressed brain taking a minute to come back to reality. He had almost thought that it was Marimo grasping his wrists, but instead found Luffy watching him with concern from beneath the brim of his hat.

"Don't worry about it right now," said Luffy, his tone as firm as his grip. "We'll figure it out later..."—Luffy grinned.—"...right after takoyaki."

Sanji gave him a wobbly smile. "Right. Takoyaki first."

Luffy's grin widened and he laughed quietly, releasing Sanji's wrists and letting them fall to his sides. Glancing over, Sanji could see Sogeking watching him, his stiff shoulders betraying his nervousness. Sanji could understand the other man's caution; if the roles were reversed, he wouldn't trust himself either.

All of a sudden, the elevator ground to a halt, the force of the too-fast stop sending all three of them to their knees. Sanji's heart skipped a beat and then began working at double time. That hadn't been anything like the last time the elevator had stopped. It was almost as if someone had shut it down. With panic starting to clutch at his lungs, he looked up at the floor counter and swore bitterly. They were stopped on the twentieth floor with nowhere to run.

For the space of several agonizing heartbeats, there was complete silence, then they heard a chorus of angry voices filter through the doors. Sanji couldn't tell what They were saying; other than the stray word, the thick metal completely obscured Their conversation. But he recognized the voices. Bellamy was out there, as well as several other guards They had assigned to him; men who, unlike Bellamy, had done more than just beat him. Sanji also managed to identify the doctor's voice—Heartstealer, as Marimo had called him. He wondered if the doctor would help them or if he was a traitor as well.

Then one voice rose over the rest, making Sanji's blood run cold. The Boss was out there. Another voice joined him and suddenly Sanji felt overwhelmingly sick. Marimo was there too.

Before panic could truly set in, a hand reached down into his line of sight, momentarily blocking his view of the slightly reflective doors. Sanji traced the line the hand made with his eyes, travelling up the fingers to the palm, wrist, forearm, elbow, upper arm, and shoulder until he finally found Luffy's face.

The Captain didn't say anything; he simply stood between Sanji and the doors with his hand extended downward. Behind him, Sogeking was rifling through his bag, his hands and knees only trembling slightly. Realization slowly began to dawn on Sanji. Luffy and Sogeking had prepared for this.

Sanji took several deep, calming breaths, willing what little bravery he had left to return to him. There was still a chance for escape, however small, and if he was going to go down, then at least it would be fighting. He frayed nerves began to weave back together and he finally found the strength to reach out and take Luffy's hand.

"You ready?" asked Luffy once he'd pulled Sanji upright.

Sanji nodded silently, his attention focused on the sounds of Them trying to pry the doors open. There was a loud, sliding clang and the voices got louder and clearer, indicating that the outer doors had been opened.

"Here," said Sogeking, breaking Sanji's trance. He pressed something cold and metallic into Sanji's hand.

Looking down, he found a small canister with the words "Smoke Dial" painted on it in neat block letters. Sanji raised his eyebrows and gave the masked man a questioning look.

"We're going to make a smoke screen," explained Sogeking. He pointed to a small button on top of the can. "As soon as the door opens, press that button and throw it out there." He raised his hand, pantomiming the action with the one he carried. "I have one too. Between the two of us, it should create enough cover and confusion for us to make it to the stairs."

Sanji glanced at Luffy and then back at Sogeking. Why didn't Luffy get one? But Sogeking was no longer paying him any attention, completely focused on the increasingly louder sounds outside the doors. There was another loud clang, presumably Them wedging a pry bar between the doors, that made him jump easily a foot in the air. Sanji tightened his grip around the canister.

"And Captain," said Sogeking, dropping his voice an octave in a vain attempt to hide its frightened trembling as he turned to Luffy, "no unnecessary fighting." He huffed when Luffy groaned at him. "You promised, remember? Fighting will only slow us down."

Luffy groaned again, fidgeting impatiently and cracking his knuckles.

"Captain," insisted Sogeking, his voice stern. He began to lean forward as if to continue when there was a deafening thunk outside the doors.

All three of them fell silent and Sanji's heart leapt eagerly into his throat. Just a few more seconds and They would have the doors open. A little more and he would have to face the Boss, this time fully outed as a conspirator rather than as the passive victim he had half-pretended to be. He tightened his grip around the can in his hand, allowing the pain that it caused to shoot up his broken finger to help clear his mind. He saw Luffy cast him a sideways glance, his face set in a determined scowl. He gave Sanji a short nod of his head, wordlessly promising to pull him through. Sanji took a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever might come his way.

Then the doors opened.

Time seemed to grind to a screeching halt as the doors parted and Sanji was faced with his captors. They must have manually shut down the elevator, because it was stopped between levels with the floor of the elevator car easily two feet above that of the lobby. A crowd of angry and startled faces stared up at them; some of Them with wide confused eyes as They noticed Luffy and Sogeking, and others sneering as they advanced menacingly on Sanji. Bellamy stood closest to the elevator, his dark glare not set on Sanji, but, oddly, on Luffy. And at the back of the group, blocking any escape down the hall, were the Boss and Marimo. The Boss looked furious. His hands were balled into shaking fists at his sides and Sanji was pretty sure that he could see a vein twitching on his forehead. Sanji had no doubt that if this didn't work that his punishment would make his earlier abuse seem like a walk in the park.

Sanji's face began to heat as his pulse started to race. As if out of habit, he looked to Marimo for support. But where in the past the man's presence would have offered him comfort, this time he only found a guarded neutral expression and tense arms crossed protectively over a muscular chest. He really was on Their side.

His earlier panic returned with renewed vigor and Sanji took half a step back, his eyes wide with growing terror. This was a mistake, a huge mistake. He should have stayed behind.

Just as his thoughts really began to spiral downward, he felt Luffy and Sogeking standing on either side of him. Luffy's knees were slightly bent, his feet shoulder width apart as he prepared to spring into battle. The brim of his cap was pulled down, the straw shadowing his face and giving him a fierce aura. On the other side of him, Sanji heard Sogeking depress the button at the top of his Smoke Dial. Almost immediately, it began to make a hissing sound. Winding up, Sogeking threw the can out of the doors, managing to hit one of the guards in the forehead with it before it landed with a dull thud on the carpet.

It was then that Sanji remembered the Smoke Dial in his own hand, the weight of it making his fingers ache. Why he had been dumb enough to hold it in the same hand as his broken finger was beyond him. He made a mental note to scold himself later—if there was a later—and punched the button on top of the can with his thumb before tossing it through the doors.

Sanji's aim wasn't quite as good as Sogeking's. The can arched over the heads of the guards and landed off to the side of the room near the wall. Sanji frowned to himself, slightly disappointed that he hadn't managed to even get the damn thing to land in the center of the room, and then the timer on Sogeking's canister ran out.

There was a bright flash shortly followed by a loud bang. Sanji blinked rapidly, tears gathering in his eyes as they fought to see around the spots created by the homemade grenade. Next to him, Sanji heard Sogeking swear, his words barely audible over the sounds of Their angry yelling as smoke poured from the can, rapidly filling the room.

"Did you forget that these shitty bombs of yours were flash-bangs?!" asked Sanji, having to yell in order to hear himself over the ringing in his ears.

But Sogeking wasn't paying him any attention. Instead, his fingers were crammed into his ears as he waited for the second Smoke Dial to go off. The briefest "Right, the other one…" flashed through Sanji's mind and he just barely managed to mimic the masked man in time to avoid more temporary damage to his sight and hearing.

Complete and utter chaos erupted in the elevator lobby as the second Smoke Dial exploded in a burst of light and sound. Sanji felt a hand grab at his sleeve and opened his eyes to find Luffy pulling him out of the elevator and into the smoke-filled lobby. Sogeking's Smoke Dials had done their job and then some. As he jumped down onto the carpeted floor, Sanji couldn't see more than a foot ahead of him and had to hold the collar of his sweatshirt over his nose and mouth to breathe. When he turned to his right, looking in the direction of the emergency stairs, he could just barely make out the shadows of Luffy and Sogeking clearing a path to the barred door.

Luffy seemed to be in a world of his own as he tore through the crowd, swinging punches that sent their victims flying further into the smoke-filled room. Ever so slightly behind him and edged closer to the wall was Sogeking. He had pulled some sort of odd slingshot-like contraption from his bag and was using it to shoot a wide range of mysterious projectiles at the oncoming crowd of angry guards. A rush of adrenaline flooded Sanji's system as he watched them fight through the haze. His feet itched in his shoes and his legs ached as they remembered the deadly skill that had been denied them for so long. He felt another hand, this time not belonging to one of his rescuers, fist in the back of his sweatshirt. Acting purely on old instincts, Sanji planted his left foot and spun on his heel, raising his right leg in time to catch the guard in the side of the head and send him flying across the room. The unfortunate guard sailed through the smoky air until he struck a group of Them that had been blocking Luffy's path to the stairway door, knocking Them all to the floor. Luffy turned toward Sanji, surprise momentarily flashing across his face before being replaced with a wide grin.

"I didn't know you could fight," laughed the boy over the din of battle. "That was awesome, Sanji!"

Sanji flashed him a small smile that was probably invisible through the smoke and began to fight in earnest. Energy coursed through him as he exacted some small, albeit painful, revenge on his abusers. A swung leg here, a fierce knee there, and one only slightly off-balanced roundhouse kick later and Sanji found himself within reach of the fire door. Behind him, he could hear Sogeking struggling to push the door open; apparently, it had been locked somehow. His masked rescuer threw himself at the red bar over and over, desperately trying to force it to compress and allow them access to the only escape route left. He even kicked at it, the action sending him stumbling backwards into Sanji, nearly toppling them over. Sanji swore under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Boss advancing on them through the crowd, his pink feathered coat standing out in the smoky haze. It was now or never. If they were caught, Luffy and Sogeking would be killed and he would be returned to an even deeper level of his own personal hell.

Unable to passively watch his freedom slip through his fingers, Sanji spun and pulled Sogeking to the side. Bracing himself, he kicked that the door, the slightly rounded edges of the red bar digging painfully into the bottom of his foot through the thin sole of his shoe. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. It was a strong door and it was stuck. This was going to hurt.

Raising his leg again, he made impact a second time, the pain of the strike vibrating up his leg and into his back. The sounds of the fight began to die down as more of Them were felled by Luffy's fists and Sogeking's shooting, but the Boss and Marimo remained. Sanji kicked a third time, feeling the door rattle a little under his foot. The Boss was getting closer. Sanji could feel the hate and anger rolling off of Luffy as he turned to face the formidable man. His foot connected a fourth time, fresh fiery pain exploding upon impact, the aftershock numbing his lower body to any other feeling. If he walked away from this, it would be with one hell of a limp. Sanji growled at himself under his breath, frustrated that this was so difficult. Not too long ago, this shitty door would have been nothing for him to kick down. For the umpteenth time in just a matter of hours, he found himself hating how weak he had become.

The Boss was within reach of him now. In his peripheral vision, Sanji could see long fingers trying to drag him back. Luffy wound up to throw a defensive punch at the powerful man and Marimo finally began to move. A new wave of anger and determination surged through Sanji and he began to yell in unison with the Boss's, Luffy's, and Marimo's battle cries. He lashed out with his foot for a fifth and final time; the sole of his shoe connecting with the stuck emergency bar at the same time that Luffy's fist connected with the Boss's face. With a deafening crack that seemed to echo around the cramped smoky space, the bright red bar compressed and the door sprang open. In a flash, the three of them were off, charging headlong down the stairs as the siren vibrated in the air around them.

Sanji's head and body throbbed as they took the stairs three and four at a time; though whether it was from pain, adrenaline, or the piercing shrill alarm bell that continued to ring, he didn't know or care. Above them, They poured into the stairwell, stumbling clumsily behind the escapee and his rescuers as They simultaneously tried to recover from the unexpected fight and to give chase.

When they reached the level above that of the main lobby, Sanji spotted more of Them streaming up toward them from the basement level. Moving as one coordinated strike force, Luffy and Sanji plowed their way through the advancing guards while Sogeking fired a volley of sharp objects up the stairs with pinpoint accuracy. Sanji landed a bone crushing kick to the ribs of one guard, gritting his teeth as it jarred his injured foot, and watching as it sent the unfortunate man over the railing, taking down more of Them below.

Without a word, Luffy, Sogeking, and Sanji agreed that the basement was no longer an option. As Luffy and Sanji continued to fend off the seemingly never-ending horde, Sogeking threw himself at the door, easily forcing it open. As with the rest of their path, the lobby was crawling with armed men, but the escaping trio pushed through. They were nearing the massive glass doors when They opened gunfire, ripping apart the air with bullets that on several occasions came too close for comfort. The thick double-paned windows cracked and then shattered under the repeated impact; the tinted glass crashing down in a sharp, deadly rain, allowing the weather outside entrance into the lobby.

A mixture of snow, ice, and glass ripped at Sanji's exposed skin as he battled his way to the shattered doors. He was so close, so close to his longed after freedom. On either side of him, Luffy and Sogeking pressed onward, doing their best to dodge bullets and flying glass, and defend him from harm at the same time. He wasn't sure how he was going to ever repay them for this.

Suddenly, he felt a bullet whiz past his ear, the displaced air ruffling his hair, and then pain exploded in his shoulder. Sanji cried out and stumbled, only managing to keep from falling with the combined help of his rescuers. Somewhere over the howling wind that whirled around them, he heard the Boss's voice scream to stop shooting. The guns fell silent and, taking the chance that was given them, Luffy, Sogeking, and Sanji ran the few final feet to the doors and out onto the sidewalk, disappearing into the storm.


	7. Chapter 7

For the second time in his life, Sanji woke up in a bed that wasn't his in an unfamiliar room in a building that was in an unrecognizable part of the city. As he lay beneath the thick covers and watched the snow continue to fall outside the small window opposite of him, he supposed that at the very least he could take comfort in knowing that he actually remembered how he had gotten there, even if the memories were partially obscured by a haze of pain and exhaustion. He had somehow managed to escape from Their clutches, though he hadn't made it completely intact. Before, he had dreamt of returning home after he was freed. He had had endless daydreams of sleeping in his own bed, cooking in his own kitchen, and using his own bathroom. Sanji had craved the familiarity of his own space and the security of doors that locked from the inside. But now he knew better. It would always be impossible for him to simply go home; not when the Boss and the rest of Them were still out there. But he still couldn't help but to worry that rather than truly finding his freedom, he had simply traded one cage for another.

He rolled onto his back to stare at the wooden ceiling, wincing as he aggravated only recently treated injuries. Even before his waking eyes, Sanji could see his escape unfolding; the events playing on a constant repeat in his mind. From Luffy's and Sogeking's unusual but timely entrance to the most terrifying elevator ride of his life to their dramatic exit into the raging snowstorm, and every second in between. It was like one long poorly plotted movie where the most important scenes were never sufficiently explained. No matter how many times Sanji went back to try to figure it all out, he only came away with more unanswered questions, leaving him frustrated and confused.

Marimo had been in that elevator lobby, waiting for Them to force the doors open and recapture him. The image of him standing beside the Boss, every bit the intimidating assassin that Bellamy had professed him to be was engraved in Sanji's mind. After all that had happened with the Baratie burning and the Boss's revelation that Marimo had killed Zeff, Sanji had fully expected for his capture to be at his former lover's hands. But when the Smoke Dials exploded and the fighting started, the man had remained motionless, watching silently from the hall as Sanji and his rescuers battled their way to the stairs. It hadn't been until the Boss made to catch them that Marimo had moved at all. Sanji had been so busy trying to kick the emergency door open that he hadn't had the opportunity to really see what the other man was doing. Had Marimo jumped into the fray to help the Boss take them down? Or had he done it to slow Them and enable his escape? Luffy's and Sogeking's response—or lack thereof—certainly indicated that they believed the latter. Even once they had escaped the lobby and the whirling blizzard outside of it into a subway station a few blocks away, the duo had made no comment on their friend's apparent betrayal.

It seemed that the subway had been their intended destination from the start. No sooner had they reached the bottom of the concrete stairs than Sogeking passed the small brightly colored train ticket to him. Sanji had taken it with trembling hands, his fingers so numb from the cold that it took him a few tries before the sensor at the turnstile could read his card. Quite luckily, the subway platform was deserted at that late hour, just as the streets outside Their building had been. Sanji supposed that most sane people were tucked away in their homes, weathering the storm in safety. The warm, humid air underground was a welcomed relief from the frigid temperatures and howling wind above. Sanji's teeth chattered and his body shook as it tried to recover from the cold. The fleece hoodie and sweatpants had been enough within the confines of his room, but weren't nearly sufficient for a winter storm.

They had made their way to the very end of the platform, where the air was the hottest and they would be the farthest from prying eyes. Sanji remembered feeling overwhelmingly grateful for the machine-created heat as the ice in his hair almost immediately began to melt and the chill left his limbs. As soon as they reached the last bench, Sogeking's shaking knees gave way and he sank down onto the aged wood. Panting for breath after their dead sprint against the wind, he had removed his mask, revealing a young man close to Luffy's age. His nose was even more impressive without the mask and was offset by full lips and round brown eyes with long lashes. When he lowered his hood, he revealed a head full of long, thick, black curls that were barely contained by an elastic band. And on his chin there was a small, neatly groomed goatee of matching wiry hair. Sanji suddenly understood the necessity of the mask. Luffy could hardly blend into a crowd and Marimo even less so. But compared to them, Sogeking stood out like a sore thumb.

As they waited for the train, Sanji's burst of adrenaline began to wear off. His entire body ached from a combination of the abuse he had suffered through and the unexpected exercise after so many weeks of relative inactivity. His newest injuries screamed for attention. His ribs and sides burned with every breath and the foot he had used to kick open the emergency door throbbed painfully. Worse yet, his left shoulder felt hot, sticky, and wet; the sensation extending down his arm and plastering his sleeve to his skin. Sanji didn't dare move it. The entire area was awash with intense stinging pain that radiated from a spot on top of his shoulder, down his back, and up his neck to his ear. Part of him wanted to look to see how bad the damage was, but it hurt to turn his head, so instead he focused on not picturing how terrible it might be. Panic would do him no good.

Soon, the dizziness from the elevator ride returned with greater force. Sanji felt cold and nauseous and had to hobble over to lean against a concrete pillar for support. He had a sneaking suspicion that he probably needed to go to the hospital, or at least see a doctor. Was that where Luffy and Sogeking were taking him? It was doubtful—his condition would be awfully hard to explain without drawing the wrong kind of attention—but at the same time, Sanji couldn't quite see the point of rescuing him from harm only to let him suffer through these kinds of injuries without treatment. Not that he couldn't survive them, but still…

His legs slowly began to lose strength and he could feel himself sliding down the side of the pillar, leaving behind a trail of moisture on the rough concrete as he went. He had nearly reached the grimy tile floor when a pair of hands caught him under the arms, pulling him slightly upright.

"Sanji?" It was Luffy, or so Sanji thought. His voice sounded muffled and far away, so it was hard to tell. He opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and the Captain's face swam into view. "Sanji, are you okay?"

Sanji slowly blinked at him. Were those cuts on Luffy's cheeks? Had he gotten hurt during the escape? The small nicks and scratches bled freely, trailing small rivulets of red over his rescuer's forehead and cheeks, nearly obscuring a scar under his left eye that Sanji was only just noticing.

"You're bleeding," Sanji mumbled, his tongue tripping over the simple sentence as he battled against his exhaustion. He tried to raise his hand to point out the cuts, but found his arms too leaden to move.

"You're bleeding more," said Sogeking, getting up from the bench and walking over with a slight limp. He coat sleeve was torn and stained crimson over the bicep of his right arm. Sogeking had been injured too? When? "You don't look so good. You gonna make it?"

Sanji could only hum in what he thought might be an affirmative response. Leaning heavily on his uninjured foot and the pillar, he started to stand again, hoping to reassure his rescuers that their hard work hadn't been in vain. He made it about halfway up when the entire world tipped sharply to one side, sending him on a one way trip back to the tile. This time, both Sogeking and Luffy caught him before he could make impact.

"'m sorry," Sanji apologized as they settled him into a seated position on the floor. He looked from one of them to the other, focusing as best as he could on the fuzzy shape that he thought might be Luffy. He tried his best to smile and managed something along the lines of a wobbly smirk. "I…I think takoyaki might have…to wait."

After that, Sanji's memory was spotty at best. He remembered how cold and hard the subway tile felt and the tense, worried tone in Sogeking's voice as he either argued with or directed Luffy on what to do. It was so hard to tell the difference with those two. There had been the earthquake-like rumble of the train on the tracks and the near deafening screech of its brakes as it pulled into the station. Then he was lying across several seats in a subway car, his head cushioned by what he guessed was either Luffy's or Sogeking's winter coat, and his feet propped up on Sogeking's overstuffed bag. It reminded him of some basic first aid training he had once undergone with the other cooks at the Baratie. Wasn't the foot thing something one was supposed to do to keep someone from going into shock? Was he going into shock?

Sanji remembered counting three stops—or was it four?—and then drew a blank again until the bitter cold wind of the snowstorm snapped him awake. He was draped over Luffy's back in a sort of limp piggy-back ride with the other man's hands firmly gripped under his knees. Sanji felt ever so slightly warmer than he had before and eventually realized that Luffy's coat was hooked over his shoulders. He even noted with some small amount of sentiment that Luffy had gone as far as to put his hat on his head. The bright red cap was turned around backwards, its straw bill protecting the back of Sanji's neck from the wind.

Once again, Sanji had tried to count the streets they crossed and memorize the turns they took, but all of it faded in and out, never completely sticking. Eventually, Luffy's pace slowed, and Sanji remembered something about an aged house nestled between modern apartments and Sogeking welcoming him to somewhere "merry" and a door with a sheep, and then he was laid out on what felt like a cot in a small room that was too bright.

There was a lot of movement around him. Things were being passed back and forth over him. A mask pressed at the bridge of Sanji's nose and his cheeks and the cold told him that his shirt and sweater had been removed. Panic at being half-naked and barely conscious flashed through his mind and he began to struggle, mumbling incoherently into his mask. An unfamiliar face loomed over his for a moment, saying words that were way too big and technical for the youth in its voice. Sanji somehow managed to pick out the words "doctor" and "safe now". He didn't completely believe this blurry new person/shape, especially when he felt the prick of a needle in his arm. All too soon, whatever drugs he had been given flooded his system, dulling his senses even further and killing what little fight he had left. As he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, he was vaguely aware of an exceedingly warm hand gripping his and then there was nothing.

When Sanji had awoken in the room where he currently lay, he had been strangely devoid of panic or fear. He didn't recognize any of his surroundings, but he was comfortable, and that was leaps and bounds ahead of his former accommodations.

Now, he remained in bed, quietly taking in the details of his room, much as he had done months before. His bed was twin-sized, which felt tiny compared to the queen-sized one he had inhabited in his former prison, but at least this one was soft. The mattress was old—he could tell as much be the way it sort of sagged in the middle and the faintly musty smell—but someone had taken the time to put a cushioned pad over it that made up for some of its wear. Likewise, the sheets were worn and threadbare at the corners, but they were a closely knit flannel that seemed to have gotten better with age. They kept what little body heat Sanji produced in, effectively banishing the slight chill in the room. A fluffy feather comforter added to the warming effect, the heavy cover weighing him down in a way that was more pleasant than unpleasant. Better yet, his pillow was also a feather one; it molded around his head and neck, offering support he hadn't had since sleeping in his own bed.

There was a short nightstand just to the right of the bed. It was built from old but sturdy wood and was adorned simply with a lamp and a clock. Sanji turned to check the time out of habit, only to find the hands of the clock immobile and the face covered in a thin layer of dust. He couldn't help but to hope that it had only been neglect that had stopped the clock and not some sick attempt to torture him. With some trepidation, he reached for the broken device, only to be stopped by a sharp pain in his shoulder.

Sanji hissed at the sensation and sat up properly in bed. Before any further exploration could happen, he needed to catalog his injuries. The possibility of needing to escape was still very real, but he couldn't make any plans if he didn't know his own condition. Taking a deep bracing breath, he pulled aside the heavy covers.

Of all of the places that They had chosen to inflict pain, his legs had never been the worst and the same was true now—save for his right foot. Long red marks from the Boss's string crisscrossed up and down his legs before disappearing under the boxers that someone had been kind enough to put on him. Sanji's cheeks heated in an embarrassed blush at the thought that one of the girls Marimo had spoken of may have seen him, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. More than likely, Luffy and Sogeking had been the ones to change his clothes. That or the mysterious owner of the young voice and big vocabulary. The latter seemed most plausible. From what little he could remember, the voice had belonged to a doctor, even if it had sounded like a child. And the doctor's work was good. His right foot and ankle were wrapped tightly in several layers of bandages, almost completely immobilizing the entire region. Sanji supposed that a cast was probably either unavailable or inconvenient, and that this was the best alternative. Cautiously wiggling his toes, he decided that it was for the best anyway. There was some pain, but if he needed to run, it would be easier with this than it would with some clunky plaster weighing down his foot.

Satisfied that his very likely broken foot was taken care of, Sanji moved on. There were more bandages wrapped snugly around his ribs. They limited how deeply he could breathe in, but offered some support to the abused bones and muscles underneath. Another strip of cotton reached up from underneath the bandages covering his torso, looping over his left shoulder and holding a thick pad of gauze in place. The entire area was tender and sore, fresh pain blossoming from a spot beneath thick padded layers when Sanji tried to raise his arm.

Sanji grumbled to himself—he should have known better—and went to rub at the protesting muscles only to accidentally bump the mysterious injury with something hard. He winced and pulled his hand away to find a padded metal splint encasing his middle finger. The pain in the broken digit was so minor compared to his other injuries that he had almost forgotten about it. Sanji stared at the dull steel for a minute, slowly moving his finger up and down as best as he could. He had cried and begged so pathetically when They had turned Their attention to his hands, even telling Them to do anything to him but hurt his most precious body parts. That was when They had started to use sex as a weapon in earnest.

Sanji shuddered and tried his best to banish the memory from his mind. He looked back up to survey his new room. Was he at risk of the same treatment here? The thought terrified him and Sanji found himself having to take several deep breaths to calm down. There was only one way to find out.

He heaved a sigh and, moving as slowly as possible, eased his legs over the side of the bed. His feet instantly met softness, the high pile fibers tickling between his toes, and he looked down to find a latch-hook rug laid out on the hardwood floor. It was big for something that had probably been made from a kit bought at a craft store. Rather than depicting some sort of cartoon character, this one swirled with shades of blue and green and had small grey fish jumping among the abstract waves. Sanji couldn't help but to smile at the little piece of decoration. He had always loved the ocean. It spelled mystery and adventure. As a child, particularly before Zeff had adopted him, he had often escaped to fantasies of the sea. Now, looking around his new room, he found touches of it everywhere. The lamp on the bedside table was filled with seashells, the curtains over the window were an oceanic shade of blue, and there were framed prints of ships on the wall over his bed and the dresser in the corner. Even his sheets were blue, the color soothing some of his lingering nervousness away.

It reminded Sanji of when Zeff had first brought him home. The old geezer had somehow learned that blue was his favorite color and had decorated his entire room with it. The gesture hadn't fixed all of Sanji's problems at the time, but it had made him smile for the first time in months. It had made him feel welcome and wanted.

Sanji allowed himself a small smile at the memory, running his hand over the blue flannel sheets. Were these people trying to do the same thing? Did they know? It seemed silly. How could they possibly have found out? Unless—Sanji's smile faltered—someone had told them.

Remembering his initial objective, Sanji stood, using the headboard of the bed for support as slight dizziness hit him. His stomach growled angrily at him, prompting him to wrap his left arm around his middle. He swayed unsteadily on his feet for a moment, trying to collect his wits and convince his body to move. He had already been out of who knew how long, letting himself lie in bed and wait for new captors to show up would accomplish nothing.

Sanji quietly surveyed the layout of his room from his barely standing position beside the bed. It was a small room, tiny even. Maybe a third of the size of the room where They had kept him confined, it was just big enough to house the twin-sized bed where he had awoken, the bedside table, a dresser, and a small wardrobe whose presence made the hair on the back of Sanji's neck stand on end. The piece of furniture wasn't nearly as big as the walk-in closet in his former prison had been, but it was still large enough to house some unsavory things. Not to mention that stationed by the door as it was, it could easily serve to keep him trapped.

Sanji set his jaw and glared at the wardrobe, angry with himself for reverting back to such a childish nature, afraid of monsters in the closet. He needed to be brave and just see for himself. The way the room was laid out, he could test the window as a possible escape route, then the drawers for potential hazards, followed by the wardrobe, and then the door situated at the end of the bed. Sanji was almost as wary of the door as he was of the wardrobe. He dreaded the prospect of trying it only to find it locked, but if it was unlocked he would have to make his way through a whole new unfamiliar building, likely guarded by hostile captors that he wasn't in any shape to fight.

"Just get on with it, you coward," he muttered, not at all surprised when his voice came out in a dry rasp.

With his left arm still clutched around his stomach—as much to soothe the protesting organ within as to keep from stressing his shoulder—he limped toward the small window directly across from the bed. A couple of minutes and a nearly strained right shoulder later, and he had determined that the window would not open. Not because it was locked—he had managed to move the locking mechanism easily enough—but because someone had either very cleverly or very stupidly painted it shut. At the very least, he supposed as he pressed his forehead to the chilled glass and looked down, the window pane should be easy enough to break and it appeared that he was only on the second story. There was even a collection of trash and recycle bins right below him that he could drop down onto, if need be.

Directly underneath the window on the inside was a small white radiator. Sanji almost considered turning up the heat, only to be stopped by a small tag that hung from the valve. The side facing him was adorned simply with a stamp of a fruit that, after some close inspection, Sanji decided was an orange. When he turned it over, he found neat, slanted handwriting that very helpfully pointed out that, "Heat costs money!" Clearly someone was trying their best to enforce a budget. Sanji merely shrugged, cringing momentarily as pain shot through his shoulder, and moved on to inspect the set of drawers to the left of the window.

The dresser appeared to have been made to match the rest of the furniture in the room. It was built from the same heavy faded wood and bore similar design lines and wave-like scrollwork on its sides. Unlike its smaller counterpart by the bed, however, there was nothing sitting on top. It almost looked too bare. At home, Sanji's tall set of drawers had always been covered with necessities like his watch, wallet, and favorite cologne. It was also where he often discarded his tie at the end of a long day. The vacancy of this one felt cold by comparison. Just looking at it provoked a whole new wave of homesickness to swell within him and he had to give his head a violent shake to clear the depressing thoughts away before they could take hold.

He was able to pull the top drawer open easily enough, even using only one hand as he was. Inside, he found neither rope nor the drugs or weapons that he had learned to expect. Instead, there were a few pairs of clean underwear in a variety of styles and sizes, and enough socks to last him a week without having to do laundry. The next drawer down revealed more clothing. He had been provided with a handful of t-shirts—again, in varying sizes—along with two collared shirts that still had paper folded into them. Sanji tentatively touched the fabric. They weren't the highest quality, but they were nice. Someone had put some effort into shopping for him, even though they clearly hadn't been able to decide on a size and everything was some shade of blue.

The third drawer housed only two sweaters, neatly folded and presented side by side. One was a deep ultramarine turtleneck knitted from soft, medium-weight fibers. It looked incredibly warm, the thought making the chill in the room creep a little further under Sanji's skin. The other sweater was the first non-blue article of clothing that Sanji found. Ultra thick and lined with plush white fleece, the rest of the sweater was made from oatmeal colored yarn. It reminded him of the old fishermen's cardigans that he used to see men wearing down on the docks when he and Zeff would go shopping for supplies. Sanji swallowed thickly, gulping down memories before he could get too emotional, and pulled the sweater from its drawer. The cardigan easily unfolded and after a moment more of staring, Sanji laid it on top of the dresser.

In the bottom drawer, Sanji found a new pair of sweatpants (dark blue) and a set of pajamas that were light blue with black pin stripes, much like one of his favorite shirts at home. There was no sign of proper pants, however; or, for that matter, of the sweatshirt he had worn during his escape. Sanji felt a pang of regret at that. Honestly, he shouldn't have expected any less. The poor article of clothing must have been completely ruined by the time they had arrived. He didn't know why he was being so sentimental about it. Pants, though. Those would be helpful.

Sanji perked up, his fingers leaving the soft cotton of the pajamas to slide the bottom drawer closed. Maybe there were pants in the wardrobe. After all, anyone with common sense knew that pants should be hung up rather than folded. He had barely pushed the drawer halfway closed before he was limping over to the wardrobe. Sanji couldn't deny the slight thrill of excitement he felt at the prospect of finding proper clothes. Grabbing hold of the handle, he pulled one door open and then the other, all of his earlier fear and trepidation buried by imagined images of dress slacks, neckties, and maybe a jacket. Instead, Sanji was met by the sight of an empty albeit spacious wardrobe. He let go a disappointed sigh as he scanned the barren space for any signs of intended use. There was a tall compartment on the left side with a bar for hanging clothing, but that currently only contained a few empty hangers. On the right was a set of four shelves, all of them empty except for the bottom one, which contained a pair of navy blue house slippers.

Sanji continued to stare blankly at the empty wardrobe for several minutes, silently willing pants to appear. A voice in the back of his mind—which sounded too much like his old man for comfort—chastised him for being selfish. These people owed him nothing. And if the situation he had just escaped was any indication, he could be much worse off. At least they had provided him with something.

As Sanji pulled the slippers from their shelf, he caught a flicker of light out of the corner of his eye. There was a mirror hanging on the inside of one of the doors, the glass reflecting the interior of his room back at him and allowing him his first look at himself since his escape. The bruising around his left eye was darkening as it healed. Deep purple blossomed from the inner corner, radiating out around his eye and under his brow in shades of blue and sickly yellowish-green. Other marks on his cheeks, forehead, and jawline that had been an angry red before had also been cast in deeper hues, giving his pale skin a mottled appearance. But as bad as the healing marks looked, Sanji knew from experience that they could definitely be worse. Other black eyes that he had suffered under Their care had often swelled shut before they began to mend, but not so this time. And the painful cut over his upper lip had been tended to as well, a slight glossiness giving away the presence of liquid stitches.

It occurred to him as he turned away from his reflection and shut the wardrobe doors, that he didn't have anything to fear from his small room—other than maybe forced confinement. In all of his exploration, he had only found attempts to make him comfortable. These people had rescued him, treated his injuries, and given him clothes. He liked Luffy and Sogeking well enough, even if they were a bit odd. If only it hadn't been for Marimo's betrayal, he would be able to place more trust in them.

Without really thinking, Sanji set the slippers aside and retrieved the pajamas from the bottom drawer and began to dress himself one-handed, his mind still completely occupied by the ever present Marimo conundrum. Just whose side was the man on? What was he planning? If he was half the assassin that Bellamy claimed him to be, then it should have been child's play for him to stop the escape. So, why hadn't he? Had Marimo betrayed Luffy and his friends? Was he going to lead the Boss to them? Or did he plan on turning on the feathered bastard? Sanji frowned. Where did all of this leave him? What exactly was he to Marimo? The man hadn't had any trouble killing Zeff; he had to have known how much that would hurt his captive lover. What was the point in orchestrating his rescue if he was going to take away everything that Sanji had to return to, anyway?

By the time Sanji had completely dressed—even shrugging on and buttoning the cardigan—both his head and his shoulder were throbbing painfully. He wanted answers. He needed answers. And there was only one person that could give them to him.

Toeing on the slippers, Sanji shuffled toward the closed door, moving carefully so as not to aggravate his injured foot further. He had his left arm wrapped securely around his waist again, using the space between a couple of the cardigan's toggle-shaped buttons as a makeshift sling, though the little bit of support did little to ease the pain. When he reached the door, he was unsurprised to find it unlocked. An hour ago—or however long it had been since he had woken up—he had fully expected to be trapped inside his small room. But after thorough exploration and time to think through everything that had happened, it made no sense for Luffy and his friends to keep him confined as They had done. Of course, whether or not they would let him leave the building remained to be seen.

Old metal hinges creaked slightly as he pulled the door open, his hand gripping the cast iron knob like a vice as he peered out into the empty hall. The landing was much the same as his room. The walls were made from the same unfinished wood as his were and identical hardwood flooring gleamed dully underfoot. A well-loved rug ran the length of the hall and as his gaze followed it, Sanji discovered that there were no less than eight more doors beyond his, four of them to each wall. His room was located right at the top of the stairs and across from what appeared to be a cramped but clean bathroom. At the very end of the hall was a small window; it along with the track lighting overhead effectively lit up the space despite the light-absorbing nature of wood panel walls. The hall was as welcoming as Sanji's room had been and, if it hadn't been for the circumstances that had found him here, he could imagine himself liking this place quite a lot.

With his door open, Sanji could hear voices filtering up the stairs, the words obscured by walls and distance. Sanji limped the last few feet out of the room, being sure to leave the door a few inches ajar, and took a seat on the top step to listen to the muffled interactions of his hosts. At first, it seemed that they were arguing. They were speaking more loudly than necessary, practically yelling, and the thundering sound of running feet punctuated by the occasional scream echoed around the house. But as Sanji listened, he realized that the voices weren't raised in anger, but in the same familial hostility that had made the Baratie's kitchen seem like home. One would taunt or tease, followed by some laughter that was cut short by a swift reprimand, all of it ending with one party whining and the other grumbling irritably. Based on the clattering of dishes and apparent manhandling of pots and pans that accompanied the shouting, Sanji guessed that some sort of meal was being prepared. He wasn't sure which one though. When he had looked out his window, the sky had been overcast, his view further obstructed by falling snow. And with the clock on his nightstand stopped, he had no idea what time of day it was.

But he was hungry, incredibly so. Even sitting down, Sanji still felt lightheaded, his blood seeming to vibrate in his veins in reminder of his need for sugar and protein. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten; They had withheld food from him for so long, only feeding him enough of the bland oatmeal and stale water to keep him conscious.

As his stomach continued to growl angrily, he found himself wanting to go down and join his mystery hosts, whether to eat or fight his way out didn't matter to him anymore. But…preferably to eat. Luffy's friends seemed like good people, if their arguments were anything to go by. Sanji was certain that he could hear a note of love under the bickering. Or was he just so desperate to go home that he was assigning the Baratie's qualities to strangers who were nothing like its cooks?

It was the smell of frying bacon that finally convinced Sanji to stand and limp his way down the stairs. The going was slow. He had to lean heavily on the banister and step in a very specific way in order to keep weight off of his injured foot. The voices grew clearer as he went. Soon, he could pick out the words and recognize some of the speakers. Luffy, it seemed, was very excited about having bacon and was loudly singing the word over and over along with another younger voice, which Sanji identified as that of the doctor that had treated him in his half-conscious state before. The volume of the singsong sort of chant grew and grew until it was near deafening. Apparently, bacon was a cause for celebration. Or, at least, it was until another voice yelled at them to, "Shut up!"

Luffy and the doctor fell silent as the new voice, this one belonging to a woman, continued, "If you keep it up, you'll wake up Sanji! Chopper, weren't you just saying that he needed rest?!"

Sanji paused at that, nearly all the way down the stairs, straining his ears to hear more. The lady—clearly the brains of the household—had a point. If he had still been asleep, the commotion would certainly have woken him, and none to pleasantly at that. But had they expected him to stay up there? Had he been wrong?

"Oh my gosh! I did!" exclaimed the young doctor from Sanji's hazy memories. Sanji could almost hear the tears in Chopper's voice as he spoke. "I'm such a terrible doctor. What will Law say when he finds out?"

There was an exasperated sigh from the woman. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Just be quiet until I'm done making breakfast, okay?"

"Okay, Nami."

Sanji's knees nearly buckled beneath him. Nami. An angel's name if he ever heard one. And she was concerned for his well being. After so much pain, fortune was finally smiling upon him. He wasn't so sure about this Chopper, though. His treatment of Sanji's injuries was thorough, but he sounded so young and unsure. And who the hell was Law?

"I know!" chimed in Luffy. "Why don't we go up there and ask him if he wants breakfast?"

"Just let him sleep, you idiot!" yelled Nami, her temper long lost on her excitable housemate.

Luffy whined. "But he's been sleeping for ages! He said he was hungry before and he hasn't eaten anything. I bet he's starving!"

Sanji gripped the railing more and more tightly as he listened. Was it okay that he had left his room on his own? Doubt was nagging at the back of his mind again, making it difficult for him to trust these people. As Luffy and Nami continued to argue over whether or not they should wake him for breakfast, Sanji had his own internal debate. Should he go back upstairs and pretend he had been asleep all this time? Could he make it all the way up there without being seen or heard? He couldn't exactly move quickly and on the trip back upstairs the handrail would be on the wrong side of him to offer support. But how would they react to finding him sneaking around? Would he be locked away? Fear that Sanji didn't want to feel ate away at his resolve. What if he had just become a captive once again? What if—?

"Sanji?"

Every single molecule in Sanji's body froze when he heard Sogeking's voice from the top of the stairs. How long had he been there? Was he going to raise some sort of alarm? Schooling his expression, Sanji slowly turned to face the other man as he made his way down the steps.

"Are you feeling okay?" asked Sogeking, concern as evident on his face as it was in his voice. "You're still really pale and Chopper said that you should rest for awhile and—" He groaned, smacking his palm to his forehead. "—Nami is going to kill me."

Sanji could only stare mutely at the other man, still trying to decide if he was in trouble or not. He guessed not, seeing as Sogeking was more worried about his own impending punishment for whatever he had done wrong.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" asked Sogeking with a skeptical look. "How are you even up already?"

"I'm hungry," replied Sanji in a way that he hoped sounded innocent enough. There was no need for one of his rescuers to know that he had suspected them of holding him captive. He shrugged his good shoulder. "I smelled bacon."

Sogeking gave him an incredulous look, opening and closing his mouth as he searched for an answer, before frowning and sighing, his shoulders dropping in defeat. Apparently, bacon was not easily argued against.

"Come on, then," Sogeking finally said with another sigh. "I'll help you the rest of the way."

Sanji hesitated for a moment, edging away from the younger man when he moved between him and the handrail. He didn't think that Sogeking intended to hurt him, but he had serious doubts about this plan.

"Come on. Don't be shy," coaxed Sogeking as he reached for Sanji's wrist. "Just put your arm over my shoulder and—"

"You sure?" interrupted Sanji, his doubts getting the better of him. "Maybe the railing would be better…"

"Nonsense!" By now, Sogeking had pulled Sanji's arm around his shoulder, jostling his bruised midsection. "I'm stronger than I look! Stronger even than Luffy! Hell, it was just the other night that I beat Zoro at arm wrestling!"

Sanji disguised his wince with a scowl. There was that name again, the same one Luffy had mentioned during the escape. Though he was more concerned with Sogeking's efforts to get him down the stairs, at the moment. "You know, I really think I'd rather—"

"Okay, ready," said Sogeking, so engrossed in his self-assigned task that he seemed to have completely tuned out the very person he was supposedly helping. "Right foot first."

"You idiot! My right foot's the bad one!"

But he was too late. Sanji's eyes widened to the size of small saucers as he felt Sogeking step down, disrupting his already precarious balance. In an effort to keep weight off of healing bones even with Sogeking dragging him along by his arm, Sanji over-corrected, turning his left ankle painfully. The action sent him stumbling into the back of his helper, who also lost his balance, and they both tumbled down the last few steps, coming to a halt in an extremely undignified pile at the bottom of the stairs.

Sanji groaned as he tried to sit up, finding himself pinned beneath Sogeking's body. Laying back down, he supposed that they were lucky he had made it so far down the stairs on his own and hadn't had too far to fall. His backside hurt from his ungraceful landing and his foot and shoulder throbbed angrily, but other than a few new bruises, he had made the trip down unscathed. Sogeking also seemed to be okay, though he was playing up the drama, moaning loudly as he pushed himself up and scooted away from Sanji. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, but before the longnose could speak, they heard the pounding of running feet and soon found themselves surrounded by concerned faces.

"Are you guys okay?" asked Luffy a little too loudly, bending over so his face hovered upside-down over Sanji's. "What happened?"

"Luffy! Get out of the way! He could be hurt!"

A second face joined Luffy, this one belonging to the young doctor, Chopper. Big brown eyes stared at Sanji with a mixture of shock and concern, his furrowed brow partially obscured by thick brown hair. The boy, who didn't look much older than thirteen, seemed ready to cry as he took in the current condition of his patient. Sanji briefly wondered why the kid wasn't in school, only to be utterly distracted by the last of his hosts.

She was radiant. That was the first thought that came to his mind. Sanji had always had a certain special appreciation for women. It was something that he had been teased endlessly for by the other cooks at the Baratie, but it never deterred him. This lady, whom he guessed must be Nami, made the men in the room seem dirty and dingy by comparison. Long red hair fell over her shoulders and around her face, framing brown eyes that sparkled with intelligence. Fine reddish eyebrows were drawn together in either concern or annoyance and cute, perfectly shaped lips were turned down in a small frown. Sanji could feel himself melting into the hardwood floor. If this lovely angel would be keeping him company, he could stay here forever.

"You better take him to the infirmary, Chopper," she said, her words caressing Sanji's psyche like the softest of touches, making him sigh happily. "I think he might have a concussion."

Chopper made a sound that could only be described as a yelp and moved even closer, crowding Luffy and Nami out of Sanji's field of vision as he frantically checked his vitals. The young doctor was pressing his fingers to Sanji's jugular when the blond finally decided he had had enough and batted his hand away as he struggled to sit up.

"I'm fine," he ground out as he propped himself up on his right elbow, his other arm still firmly wrapped around his smarting ribs. He glanced around at the worried faces of his hosts before focusing on Nami, giving her his best Prince Charming smile. "I was just stunned by the lady's beauty."

"Oh man, I think you're right, Nami," said Sogeking. "He must have hit his head pretty hard to call you that."

The sly—though Sanji preferred to think of it as stunning—smile that had slowly been spreading on Nami's face disappeared in a flash. She shot Sogeking a glare that could have melted stone, effectively silencing him. Sanji suppressed a shudder. Nami was as scary as she was beautiful.

"So, what happened?" she asked, fixing Sanji with a no nonsense stare. "I'm pretty sure that you're supposed to be in bed resting."

Sanji bit his tongue. No one had told him that, but he didn't want to upset the lovely lady. Nor did he want to let on that he had suspected Luffy and the others of malicious intent. He briefly wondered if bacon would work as an excuse for her as well. He guessed not, though, and banished the thought.

"I told him it was a bad idea," started Sogeking, drawing Nami's perceptive and irritated gaze. "But he insisted, so I very bravely offered my help and—"

Now, it was Sanji's turn to shoot the longnose a dangerous glare. Granted, he wasn't exactly lying, but his spin on the story was only true by the loosest of standards. Sogeking snapped his mouth shut when faced with the wrath of both the redhead and the blond. From behind Sanji, Luffy laughed.

"You better watch out, Usopp!" Luffy managed between gasping, gleeful breaths. "You'll have both Nami and Sanji after you!"

Sogeking—Usopp?—paled several shades, looking between Sanji and Nami with wide eyes. Nami was still glaring, but Sanji's expression had shifted from upset to curious.

"Usopp? Is that your real name?"

The longnose grinned nervously and scratched at the back of his head. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I told you on the train, but you were so out of it that I guess you don't remember."

Sanji nodded silently, the last remnants of his glare falling away. He looked around at the expectant faces of his unusual new hosts, people who had both rescued him and cared for him and felt some of his earlier trepidation leave him. If he had to lay low at this place for awhile, he supposed that it wouldn't be too bad. He might even find some happiness here. "So, where am I?"

Nami, Usopp, and Chopper all visibly relaxed, and Luffy grinned, throwing his arms wide, proudly presenting the…hallway. He laughed again, provoking a smile from Sanji in return.

"Welcome!" exclaimed the Captain. "To the Going Merry Halfway House!"


	8. Chapter 8

"Luffy, you idiot! This is the hallway!" snapped Usopp, smacking his friend upside the back of the head.

Sanji felt a small smile pull at his lips. He had been right; these people were very much like the cooks at the Baratie. He watched with quiet amusement as Luffy rubbed at the back of his head and whined at Usopp, who just grumbled back at him.

"So, can I have a tour?" Sanji asked, drawing the attention of his bickering hosts.

If it hadn't been for the years he'd spent working in a busy kitchen, Sanji probably wouldn't have been able to understand Usopp and Luffy as they spoke over each other. Apparently, for a relatively small house, there was a lot to see. He was immediately invited to visit their rooms. They also informed him that he should see the living room, sun room, and backyard. There was a workshop in the basement that was a prime point of interest—for Usopp, at least—as well as Nami's office, and the infirmary. Sanji listened with as much patience as possible, only really perking up when Luffy started talking about the kitchen. Which reminded him…

"Did you remember to take the bacon off the heat?" asked Sanji, interrupting the non-stop stream of information. Luffy and Usopp both froze, their mouths hanging open as Sanji's question sank in.

"The…" Luffy began.

"…bacon," finished Usopp.

They both turned to Nami, whose irritation was only just beginning to fall away.

"I think it might be burning," Sanji added.

Sure enough, the sharp odor of burning meat drifted into the hallway, prompting his hosts into action. Nami swore loudly and bolted for the kitchen, arriving at the entry way just after Luffy, who was screaming "Save the bacon!" over and over. Usopp followed suit, scrambling to his feet and running to join his friends, leaving Sanji alone in the hall with Chopper.

"We better get in there," said Sanji as he watched after them. He could feel instincts that had been repressed by Them coming back to life. He wanted to be in that kitchen correcting his hosts' mistake. Out of the corner of his eye, Sanji could see Chopper watching him closely, though his rapt attention remained on the entry through which the others had disappeared. "I'm a cook, you know. I can probably fix it."

Without waiting for an answer, Sanji began the surprisingly difficult task of trying to get up. His bruised ribs and backside twinged and ached as he pushed himself up into a seated position. He gripped at his middle more tightly, digging his fingers into the layers of bandages beneath his cotton pajama top. Despite all of the distractions, he still hurt. As he moved to maneuver his legs beneath him, a sharp spike of pain shot up his back and an involuntary groan escaped from between tightly clenched teeth.

"We should go to the infirmary first," Chopper finally spoke, his words stopping Sanji mid-motion. "Even if you didn't get hurt in the fall, I still want to see how everything is progressing and maybe give you some pain medication."

Sanji began to protest, only to be silenced by a stern look from the young doctor. It was incredible. Not two minutes before, Chopper had been nothing more than a panicky kid. But now he almost seemed twice his size, projecting the same authority as any other doctor. There would be no arguing with him on this. Sanji sighed, giving the entry to the kitchen one last look of longing, and nodded.

"Good." Chopper knelt beside him, expertly placing his hands in the places that would cause him the least amount of pain, and helped him up. He turned Sanji so he was facing deeper into the house. "The infirmary is this way. Do you need help walking?"

"I can manage," Sanji ground out, steadying himself as best as he could. The hallway was wider on the main floor than it had been upstairs with nothing other than the wall to offer support, but he really didn't want to risk falling again.

Chopper gave him an incredulous look and then bent to retrieve Sanji's house slippers, which had been scattered at the bottom of the stairs in his fall, and wordlessly handed them to him. Sanji frowned as he slid his feet into the soft shoes and shuffled after the doctor. In the company of Luffy and the others, Chopper had been so energetic. But here with him alone, he almost seemed distrustful. Did the kid think he was dangerous?

They passed an open entryway similar to that of the one leading into the kitchen, this one opening into a living room. Sanji paused as he peeked inside, only to be ushered on by a pull at his sleeve by Chopper before he could get a good look.

The infirmary, as it turned out, was almost directly across the hall from the den. When he stepped inside, Sanji found a room roughly the size of his own. There were more wood paneled walls—they seemed to run through the whole house—only these had been painted white. The entire room was bright and clean, from the curtains over the window to the desk in the corner. Opposite of the desk was a small hospital bed, complete with fresh sheets and a pillow. Cabinets and shelves lined all of the available wall space, only broken by a modest countertop with a sink. Sanji was impressed. For a halfway house, this was a rather sophisticated set up.

"Please take a seat on the bed," said Chopper, still projecting the attitude of a professional.

Sanji bit back a smirk and followed the teen's directions, feeling as though he were playing doctor with a child. As he eased himself onto the slightly hard mattress, he saw Chopper pull some papers from a folder and loop a stethoscope behind his neck.

"And take off your sweater and shirt," Chopper added as he collected bandages and other supplies from a cabinet.

That part gave Sanji pause. He'd just finally gotten to wear clothes again; he didn't want to take them off. Logic told him that it was necessary, but the irrational fear that They had instilled in him said that he wouldn't get his clothes back. If he did as he was told, he'd be going down a path that led right back to the place from which he had just escaped. The thought sent a shudder running through Sanji's body, which Chopper turned just in time to see.

"You know what? It's kind of cold in here. Why don't you leave your shirt on? Just unbutton it for me, okay?"

Sanji let go an involuntary sigh of relief, thankful to the doctor for saving him from having to beg. With less trepidation than before, he removed his cardigan and unbuttoned the pajama shirt. He sat silently as Chopper stepped forward and began his examination, trying his best not to wince or complain as the doctor pressed at his bruised mid-section or placed the freezing stethoscope to his bare skin.

As his examination progressed, the silence in the room went from slightly awkward to deafening. Even when Their doctors had treated his various injuries throughout his captivity, there had always been some sort of conversation, though it was usually Doctor Heartstealer exasperatedly telling Bellamy to shut up. Sanji wasn't sure what was making Chopper so quiet. He had sounded so lively with Luffy before. Just as Chopper began to pull at the bandages over his shoulder, he decided that he couldn't take it anymore.

"So, Chopper, huh?" Sanji asked, his question making the teen jump back in surprise. Sanji tried to keep his face neutral and friendly so as not to scare him off. "That's an unusual name. Is it a nickname?"

Chopper scowled at him for a moment as if assessing the purpose of his patient's question, and then relaxed. "Yeah. My real name is Tony. You can call me that, if you like."

Sanji shrugged his good shoulder, giving the young doctor his friendliest smile. "No, Chopper's cool. How old are you, though? You seem kind of young to be a doctor."

The teen laughed nervously and went back to unwrapping the bandages around Sanji's shoulder and waist, struggling only a little with maneuvering around the shirt.

"I'm fifteen," he explained, rolling up the last of the cotton strips and tossing them into a bin marked "Hazardous Waste". "And I'm not really a doctor. Not yet."

Sanji pulled away at that and gave Chopper a skeptical look.

"I'm studying to be one, though!" Chopper quickly amended, his voice earnest. "I'm pre-med. This is my last semester before I go to medical school." He gently pulled away the square of gauze over Sanji's shoulder, making him wince as it tugged at the injury underneath. "And I've had lots of practical experience. Luffy gets into a lot of trouble and Zoro's even worse—oh, this is coming along nicely already."

At Chopper's comment, Sanji turned to see for himself, questions about this Zoro person banished for the moment. He only very vaguely remembered receiving the injury to his shoulder. All he could recall was gunfire and an explosion of pain as he, Luffy, and Usopp had run through the lobby.

"The bullet only grazed you," said Chopper as he took a closer look at the wound. "But it was deep enough that you needed stitches. And you lost quite a bit of blood. Luckily, we had the right type to give you a transfusion."

Sanji raised his eyebrows, shifting his gaze from the neat line of stitches on his shoulder to the bandaid on the inside of his arm. How had he not noticed that before? More importantly, how had they known his blood type? It was extremely rare and not even something They had bothered with.

"This looks really good, though," Chopper continued on before Sanji could ask who had given them his medical information. "Especially given the amount of time it's had." The doctor-in-training smiled at him. "You should be feeling better in no time!"

"How long has it had?"

"What?"

"Er—" Sanji paused for a moment, searching for a good way to rephrase. "How long have I been here?"

"Oh." Chopper frowned, his fingers nervously working at a packet containing fresh gauze. "It's been two days."

"Two days?!"

Chopper hummed and nodded.

Sanji felt like he might hyperventilate. Two days. Two whole days. That was at least forty-eight hours that he had been vulnerable and exposed. A fearful chill crept up his spine, bringing mistrust with it. He shook his head once and then a second time in hopes of dismissing the toxic feeling that clutched at his heart and burned with nausea at the back of his throat. Deep down, Sanji knew he could trust these people; he hoped desperately that he could. But he had learned that losing days meant being haunted by mostly repressed memories and a strange imagined filthiness that clung to his skin. The thought of missing two whole days and not knowing what had happened in them made him sick.

"Sanji?" By now, Chopper's worried voice sounded far away and Sanji didn't even notice the doctor until he had reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Don't—!" He flinched away from the teen's hand, his eyes wide and his heartbeat echoing in his ears.

"I'm sorry," Chopper whined, looking terrified and hurt. "I didn't mean to upset you."

It was then that Sanji realized he was shaking, clutching his shirt closed around him tightly enough that his fingers hurt. Almost instantly, his blind fear and mistrust faded and was replaced by guilt. By now, he had lost count of the number of times he had suspected Luffy and his friends of malicious intent. All they had done was help him, yet he continued to place them in the same category as Them. Sanji hated himself for it. He hated himself for the doubt that lingered in his mind, for allowing himself to be so easily broken, and for the tears at the corners of Chopper's eyes. Most of all, Sanji hated himself for letting Marimo's betrayal poison him against innocent people. He sighed.

"No, I'm the one who should apologize," Sanji said. "You've taken really good care of me and you don't even know me. I should be thanking you. I don't know how I'll ever repay you guys for what you've done."

Chopper blinked dumbly at him for a moment and then a bright blush accompanied by a wide grin spread across his face. "Don't compliment me! I still have a lot to learn. Besides, it doesn't make me happy or anything."

Sanji gave him a wry smirk, his grip around his shirt beginning to relax. Chopper was a good kid. There wasn't anything to fear from him.

"Hey, how about I just wrap your shoulder for now?" suggested Chopper, some of his blush faded, but his cheer still evident. "We can redo the bandages over your ribs after breakfast."

The last of the tension fell from Sanji's shoulders at the doctor's suggestion.

"Just try to avoid doing anything strenuous until then, okay?" he instructed as he taped fresh gauze into place over Sanji's stitches. "Or actually, don't do anything too strenuous, or I'll put you on bed rest until you heal."

Sanji pressed his lips together and nodded. He wasn't sure if it was possible to avoid trouble with Luffy around and he would have to ensure that Usopp wasn't anywhere near the stairs when he used them, but he would try his best. Anything to avoid being confined to a bed again.

"Here." Chopper handed him a sling. "To keep weight off of your shoulder. I don't want you using that arm too much until it's healed."

Again, Sanji nodded, setting the sling to the side so he could button up his pajama shirt and put his sweater back on. He fumbled a little with the buttons, the metal brace on his finger interfering with his fine motor functions. He looked up when he saw Chopper fidgeting in his peripheral vision.

"What?"

"Do you want help with that?" The teen sounded hesitant. "Or maybe with the sling? There are a lot of straps, so it can be kind of hard to do one-handed."

His immediate impulse was to turn Chopper down. It had been so long since he'd gotten to do anything for himself, Sanji wasn't keen on giving that up right away. That and his mistrust still lingered, no matter how guilty he felt about it. He had gotten close to Marimo, attached feelings of friendship and even affection to him, only to be devastated weeks later. The risk of betrayal was too high. But Chopper's offer to help was so innocent and his wide brown eyes were almost pleading. Sanji had the feeling that the young doctor would be crushed if he turned him down.

"Yeah, I could use some help with the sling," Sanji compromised.

He saw Chopper's face split into a wide grin as he finished buttoning up his cardigan. It turned out that the young doctor had been right about the sling; there were a lot of straps. Sanji found himself glad for Chopper's help as he looped one Velcro strap over his shoulder and another around his waist. When all was said and done, his left arm was completely immobilized and his shoulder hurt significantly less.

"And now for your foot," said Chopper as he stepped back.

"What about my foot?"

"Well, you fractured it and…" The doctor drifted off, his brow furrowed.

"And?"

"And you shouldn't be walking on it." That worried tone was back again. "I saw how bad your limp was. If you keep walking around on it, it won't heal!"

Sanji grimaced. He had an idea of where this conversation was going and he already didn't like it.

"I think you should use a wheelchair for the next few d—"

"No."

"But you need to keep weight off your foot!"

"No."

"Why? Do you want to ruin your foot?"

Sanji sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose, having to suppress a wince as a dull spike of pain reminded him that that was also bruised. "Tell me something, Chopper. How the hell am I going to push myself around in a wheelchair with only one arm?"

"Oh." Chopper thought for a moment. "Well, someone else could do it!"

"Someone else…"

Chopper nodded enthusiastically.

"Like Luffy or Usopp," Sanji said, incredulous. "I barely know them and I can already tell that's a bad idea."

"Nami could do it," offered the doctor.

Visions of the beautiful Nami dressed in a nurse's uniform flashed through Sanji's mind, making his heart flutter and his stomach do a succession of backflips. To have such a goddess accompany him for every task would be a dream…except that she would have to join him on trips to the bathroom or be there to possibly witness him crumble when his recent past got the better of him. He thought back to his reactions to simply being touched and how hurt Chopper had been at his rejection. He couldn't do that to Nami.

"I'm not going to impose that on a lady," Sanji grumbled. "Why can't I use one of the crutches in the corner?"

Chopper gave him a pleading look, which Sanji met with a determined one of his own until the teen finally broke. With a sigh, he retrieved a crutch that had been leaning beside the door and handed it to his patient.

"If I see you struggling, I'm going to take it away and order you to—"

"Bed rest. Yeah, I know," said Sanji, eagerly taking the crutch and standing up.

It took him a moment to find his new center of balance with the crutch. He shuffled around on his good foot, shifting the padded support of the crutch around until it was comfortably situated under his arm. When he was satisfied, Sanji looked back at Chopper, a triumphant smile on his face.

"See? Nothing to worry about."

Chopper frowned, obviously still skeptical.

"Do you think they managed to save any of the bacon?" asked Sanji, already hobbling toward the door in hopes of getting through it before the young doctor changed his mind.

Walking with the crutch was more difficult than he had anticipated. It was definitely better than walking directly on his foot, but challenging to manage without his other arm for balance. By the time he reached the door, he had only half-figured out how to pattern his steps with the crutch so that it actually did its job without him tripping. Opening the door posed a whole new problem. The sling took his left hand completely out of action and the crutch limited his reach. He could feel Chopper watching him as he strained to grasp the knob. This was a test; Sanji just knew it was. If he could manage this on his own, he might be allowed more freedom without his hosts constantly hovering around.

With a final lunge, Sanji managed to get the door open, a small victorious "aha!" escaping from his lips as he not-so-gracefully hobbled into the hall. He paused briefly to glance at the doctor over his shoulder, flashing him a lopsided smile and a thumbs-up. Chopper only heaved a worried sigh and turned back to the papers on his desk.

"You go on without me," he said, flipping though a few documents whose contents Sanji couldn't quite see. "I'll be there in a minute."

Sanji needed no second bidding. He was ravenously hungry and eager to put some distance between himself and the infirmary. He took a few uneven steps into the hall, trying to decide upon the best route. With the crutch hindering his gait, the base of the stairs and adjacent doorway to the kitchen seemed much farther away. That and part of Sanji wanted to explore while he was on his own. As his gaze swept the hall, his eyes immediately landed on the open entry to the living room.

In his eagerness to examine Sanji's injuries, Chopper had stopped him from entering the room before, but there was nothing to keep him from it now. Like the rest of the house, the living room was modest yet cozy. There was a small gathering of mismatched seating that formed a semi-circle around an older model digital television. Blankets and throw pillows were strewn across the chairs and floor, and the skewed cushions on the couch spoke to the recent creation and destruction of a pillow fort. Sanji raised his eyebrows at the sight. This looked like the living room of a home with children, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the mess before him was Luffy's doing.

"Sanji!"

Speak of the devil.

Sanji looked up from the disheveled living room to find Luffy beaming at him from a second doorway to the kitchen. To Luffy's left, there was an opening that seemed to serve as a bar, through which he could see Usopp fearfully scrubbing at a pan in the sink while Nami looked on in irritation.

"Are you feeling better?" Luffy continued, drawing Sanji's attention back to him. "Chopper's a really good doctor! Hey! Are you hungry? There isn't any bacon left, but we could make something else! Oh!"—He turned back into the kitchen.—"Hey, Nami! Do we still have any of that steak?"

"No." Nami scowled at her housemate. "You ate all of it last night, remember?"

"Inhaled, more like," grumbled Usopp from the sink. "Same as the bacon. You didn't even save me any." He whined miserably. "I think I might collapse from hunger!"

"Oh, shut up. You will not," snapped Nami. "Keep cleaning that pan. This is your fault, you know."

"My fault?!" bristled Usopp. "How is it my f—"

A hard slap to the back of the head shut the longnose up and set Luffy into a fit of laughter.

"And you," growled Nami, rounding on Luffy. "You're just as bad, standing there laughing. Help Sanji get some breakfast! I bet he's starving!"

Sanji wobbled where he stood, thankful for the extra support provided by the crutch. To have such a lovely lady as Nami worried about him; it was almost too much.

"Are you sure you didn't hit your head in that fall?" asked Nami.

"I'm fine," Sanji reassured her as he limped further into the kitchen.

"I did," said Usopp. He dropped the half-cleaned frying pan into the sink with a sudsy splash. "I think I need to go lie down. Luffy can finish this, right?"

Nami turned and scowled at Usopp again, and he resumed work on the pan. When she turned back to Sanji, there was still slight irritation evident on her face. "Is there anything you're hungry for?"

Sanji had to take a deep breath to hold himself together. He was pretty sure that his unique tactics for gushing over a woman as breathtakingly perfect as Nami would likely qualify as "strenuous activity" in Chopper's book and he really didn't want to be confined to a bed. Once he'd gotten the hearts in his eyes under control, he paused and thought for a moment. "What do you have?"

"Not much," said Usopp before Nami could answer. He hazarded a glance over his shoulder at Sanji. "Luffy's eaten just about everything and we haven't been grocery shopping in a week."

"Is that pan clean yet?" asked Nami, shooting a venomous glare at Usopp that sent him back to vigorously scrubbing. She sighed and pinched at the bridge of her nose. "He's right, though. All that's left is flour, sugar, some eggs…" She counted off their inventory on her fingers as she listed them. "We have some milk and maple syrup. Oh, and there's oatmeal."

Sanji winced at the mention of oatmeal, the memory of the gruel They had fed him sticking in his throat.

"I could make something," he offered. "I'm a coo—chef. I'm a chef."

"Really? That would be wonderful, Sanji!" said Nami, her eyes sparkling.

Beside her, Luffy look equally excited. Sanji was pretty sure he could see drool collecting at the corners of his host's mouth.

"Can you cook meat? Meat would be good. You should make meat."

Sanji and Nami heaved identical sighs.

"I can't cook meat if you don't have any," said Sanji.

"You can't cook anything anyway," came Chopper's voice from behind him.

All of them turned to face the young doctor, a collective groan echoing in the small kitchen.

"Why not?" whined Luffy, voicing the unspoken question in the room.

Sanji hung his head. He already knew the answer without having to hear it.

"Sanji is supposed to be resting," explained Chopper, his face set in a determined yet unintimidating scowl. He laid the file folder from the infirmary onto the breakfast bar and slid up onto a stool. "I told you, Sanji, you can't strain yourself or you won't heal."

As Luffy and Usopp began to complain, Sanji's mind raced. He needed to find a way to convince Chopper to give him some freedom. His fingers itched for activity once again and he drummed them against his crutch, the exposed metal of his finger splint clinking softly as it made contact.

"What if I direct and you guys cook?" offered Sanji, speaking slowly as the thought formed. He resolutely met Chopper's gaze. "I don't even have to move. Hell, I could even sit, if you want me to."

Chopper frowned. "I don't know…"

"I was thinking about making pancakes," Sanji continued, barely hiding a small victorious grin as he saw the gravity of his offer sink in. Apparently, his young doctor had a sweet tooth.

All eyes were on Chopper as he visibly struggled with his concern for his patient's health and his own loudly grumbling stomach. Sanji shifted uneasily on his good foot, lightly tapping the toe of his broken one against the floor. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Chopper crumbled.

"Fine." He let go a defeated sigh. "But! You have to promise to take it easy. And…can I have chocolate chips in mine?"

Sanji nodded eagerly, a wide genuinely happy grin spreading across his face.

Unfortunately, cooking with his hosts turned out to be more difficult than Sanji had anticipated. Nami, in all of her angelic perfection, was extremely detail oriented in her approach to cooking, missing the bigger picture almost entirely. Normally, Sanji wouldn't have minded giving the redhead extra attention—he knew that he would have countless "cooking with Nami" fantasies later—but he also needed to keep a watchful eye over Luffy and Usopp. Within mere minutes of starting, the two of them had gotten into a flour fight, which resulted in half of the bag covering the counters, the floor, and themselves. Sanji found himself having to watch over Nami's cooking whilst simultaneously managing Luffy and Usopp's self-inflicted cleanup duties. By the time breakfast was finally cooked and served, Sanji was trying to his best to hide his exhaustion from Chopper.

The Going Merry Halfway House had no formal dining room, so Sanji found himself seated in the living room with the others, a plate of fresh pancakes balanced on his lap. He quietly observed his new housemates as he thoughtfully chewed his food, the rich flavors feeling foreign on his deprived tongue. Luffy was an even bigger nuisance when there was food to be had, and Sanji quickly learned that he had to carefully guard his plate if he wanted any chance at eating his entire meal. Luckily, the so-called Captain seemed to be dead set on stealing from Usopp's plate for this particular meal.

"Ah! I almost forgot!" Chopper practically yelped, drawing Sanji's attention away from a fresh squabble that had broken out between Luffy and Usopp. The young doctor hurriedly shoveled the last few bites of pancake into his mouth and then rushed to retrieve the file folder from the bar. "I still need you to answer some questions for me, Sanji!"

"Oh…kay," Sanji said slowly, handing his leftover breakfast to Luffy. He was still hungry, but it seemed that the Captain was too, and offering his remaining share allowed Usopp to eat in peace. He may have been a little rusty, but he was still a world class chef. He had no intention of letting anyone go hungry. Not to mention that by donating his food to the bottomless pit that was Luffy, he won a brief reprieve from Luffy's antics for all of them. "What kind of questions?"

Chopper beamed at him, the folder already open in his lap. Sanji doubted that he would ever be able to take such an adorable kid seriously.

"Just some basic medical history questions. I already have a lot of your information; I just need to know if anything has changed…oh! Unless you'd prefer to do this in private. We can go back to the infirmary, if you'd like—"

"No, no, here is fine." Sanji really didn't want to go back in the infirmary. He had a sneaking suspicion that he would walk out even more bandaged and immobilized than he already was.

"Great!" Chopper grinned widely. "Do you have any history of heart conditions?"

"No."

"Diabetes?"

"No."

"Fainting or lightheadedness?"

"No."

Chopper's list continued in this fashion for several more bullets, the monotony of Sanji's repeated no's wearing on the mood in the room. In the corner of his eye, he could see Luffy and Usopp beginning another shoving match whilst Nami tried to ignore them by reading a book.

"Okay, last two," said Chopper, checking off the most recent category with a small flourish. "I see here that you used to smoke. Is that still a habit?"

Sanji paused at that, his mouth hanging half way open. Once again, he couldn't help but to wonder who had told Chopper that he had smoked in the first place.

His smoking had been a persistent and excessive habit in his former life, and a cause of constant nagging by Zeff. The nicotine withdrawal had been hell when he had first been taken. Sanji could almost feel the violent shaking that had overrun his body and the crippling nausea that had turned his stomach. They had delighted in withholding his addiction, using his cigarette habit as yet another tool to break him. Sanji suppressed a shudder, remembering how excited Crocodile had become during his first visit when his "Prince" had hungrily inhaled the lingering scent of cigar smoke on his clothing.

Now, Sanji wasn't sure if he would pick the habit up again, though his mouth itched for a cigarette at the thought.

"No," he finally answered with a dejected sigh. "I suppose it isn't."

"Is there any other history of drug abuse?"

"No. Well…" Sanji frowned.

"Yes?" Chopper asked, concern clear in his voice.

"Well…" Sanji sighed and resisted the urge to pinch at the bridge of his bruised nose. "It's just that They gave me a lot of drugs, but I don't know what they were or how much or anything. I don't think that I'm addicted to any of them, though."

Chopper mirrored Sanji's frown. "Okay. I might take some blood and urine samples, if that's okay. See if there's anything lingering in your system."

Sanji winced. What an appetizing thought right after breakfast. He really would have preferred to avoid anymore poking and prodding, and he didn't even want to think about the logistics required for him to pee in a cup with one arm in a sling and as unbalanced as he was.

"Don't worry," said Usopp, his tone even and casual despite having Luffy's foot planted in his face. "We all had to do that stuff when we first got here. Though…not all of us were in as rough shape as you."

"Zoro was!" interjected Luffy, sitting up straighter and disrupting Usopp's grip on his collar. "Zoro looked awful. Remember that, Nami?"

Nami glanced up from her book and frowned. "I remember. The moron almost died." She grimaced and then shrugged. "Wasn't the last time he got into that kind of trouble, though."

"Zoro…You guys keep mentioning him," said Sanji. He had a sneaking suspicion of who he was—it was pretty obvious when he thought about it—but he hoped he was wrong. The others really seemed to look up to this Zoro person, even idolized him, if Chopper's expression was anything to go by. If Sanji suspicions were correct, then there would be a big problem with him staying at the Going Merry. "Does he live here?"

"Of course!" Luffy grinned widely. "Us and Zoro and Robin and Franky and Brook. Law stays sometimes too, but not lately."

Sanji mentally tallied the names. Including him, that made nine residents of the Going Merry. Ten, if he counted this Law. He wanted to inquire further, but all conversation stopped when the sound of the front door opening and closing and heavy footsteps on hardwood floors echoed down the hall. Sanji could hear vaguely familiar voices speaking lowly to one another, his heart freezing midbeat at the moment of recognition. Relief and joy washed over the others in the room while a combination of terror and rage clutched at Sanji's body as the footsteps neared the living room.

"They're finally back!" exclaimed Luffy, bouncing excitedly in his seat.

Two familiar figures rounded the corner into the living room. His hosts' happiness was palpable, but Sanji didn't care. Cold dread and righteous anger turned his stomach as he glared at the murderous bastard that had betrayed him.

"Hey, everyone," said Marimo with a small smirk, stepping slightly to the side to let Doctor Heartstealer through the entryway.

Sanji coiled himself to attack and Marimo finally seemed to notice him.

"Oi, Curlybrow, you look like hell," he said with a grin. "Sorry to leave you alone with these guys. Are you feeling any better?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have so far. Please tell me what you think! Don't be shy!
> 
> Chapter 9 is in the works, I assure you. <3


End file.
